The Gutter Runner
by Sundered Heart
Summary: Having been robbed of everything dear to him, a young teen flees into the deepest and darkest depths of the city, where a whole different kind of struggle awaits him... A Grimdark take on the Pokemon Universe. An OC fiction: submissions welcome.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Beneath the hazy night sky, a gigantic city—perhaps the largest ever in human history—loomed like a silent behemoth. Sickly light from its innumerable streets and buildings flowed from the metropolis, illuminating the vicinity for miles around. In full daylight, the sight would've been awe-inspiring; dozens of massive spires reaching the high clouds, hundreds of sky scrapers clustering around their oversized cousins, all of which surrounded by a mile high wall of thick concrete and steel.

A thousand years ago, any traveler passing through this place could've marveled at the brilliant display of stars above at his leisure. Those days, however, have long passed into history, even into legends. Now, the air was always thick with acrid smoke and fog billowing from the numerous power plant and factory chimneys that adorned the ugly metropolis. Millions of its inhabitants lived and died believing stars only existed in fantasies. For most, it was their lot to live and languish in the darkness, toiling in misery, poverty, and oppression.

Such harsh reality, however, was currently lost on one particular man, sheltered deep in the higher levels of the spire. Neither did he care for such things nor did he even want to inquire further. As a member of the rich, ruling elite, the woes of the common people were petty to the man. For tonight, his depraved mind was instead occupied with a darker, more sinister ambition.

* * *

><p>The fire burned brightly in the fireplace, warming a lone man lying leisurely in an opulent sofa. He appeared to be in his forties or fifties, powerfully built with sharp facial features. His expensive black suit fitted him snugly, topped by a graying hair shaved in a military buzz cut. The man's sharp blue eyes were gazing intently into the fire, as if in deep thought. A large Persian was lying at his feet, its eyes closed and purring contently. Several lamplights revealed a luxurious room filled with expensive furniture and trophies hanging on the wall.<p>

Series of loud knocks interrupted the man from his reverie.

"Enter," he called out in a deep, firm voice as he rose from his seat.

A muscular man in black suit entered and curtly bowed, his boss eyeing him coldly.

"So….what's the news?"

"Good tidings, Lord Frederick," the bodyguard smirked as he made his report. "Your brother breathed his last five minutes ago. My men are disposing his body even as I speak."

A cruel smile slowly crept across the Frederick's face.

"Excellent," he whispered, "everything is proceeding as planned, then?"

"Yes, milord. We are also, um, _taking care of_ all the household servants who are refusing to change their allegiances. The metropolitan police, as well as all the major noble houses, have also sent word supporting your venture."

"And our lawyers?"

"They were….reluctant at first, but we managed to convince them otherwise. The proper documents have been drawn up, along with the proper signatures. The estate will be under your name by tomorrow morning, sir."

Frederick nodded with approval.

"You've done well."

"Thank you, milord," said the bodyguard, looking all too pleased. "The only problem that now remains to be settled is….your nephew."

"Don't make him out to be someone I should be caring about," Frederick snapped icily. "He is merely a fragile little brat who happens to be standing between me and what is rightfully mine."

"Then what do you want us to do with him?"

"What any man does if a little fly comes buzzing around his dinner table," Frederick replied in a frighteningly calm manner. "Get rid of him….and make it discreet."

"As you wish, milord."

The bodyguard bowed again before leaving the room. Frederick stood in place for a brief moment, silently savoring his moment of triumph. Then he turned around to gaze at the portrait hanging above the mantelpiece, locking his eyes with those of a man whom he had long come to loathe….despite their shared lineage.

"Oh, my noble brother," the man drawled, his mocking voice dripping with venom and scorn. "Shame you couldn't be here to witness and celebrate this wonderful evening…."

Frederick Caverell, the new count of Spire Septus, slowly began to laugh.

* * *

><p>Elsewhere…<p>

The door of the study flew open forcefully, sending several objects nearby skittering across the floor. At the doorway stood an old man in a servant's uniform, a panicked expression plastered on his sweaty face. A teenage boy who had been standing near the window turned around with alarm.

He appeared to be no more than about 16 years of age, whose jet black hair and bright blue eyes complimented his slender frame nicely. He was dressed in a simple dark suit minus the tie with a pair of black dress shoes. Any girl would've considered him striking, if not for his sickly pale skin that made him appear fragile and vulnerable.

"Wilbur? What's going on?" the boy asked in a confused voice.

"Master Nicholas!" cried the old butler while trying hard to catch his breath. "You must get out of here. You're in grave danger!"

"W-what do you mean? Just calm yourself down-"

"Your father's dead, young master Nicholas! And your uncle has revealed his true colors at last. His men are seizing the family assets and hunting down anyone who's still loyal to your father!"

Nicholas stood stunned, visibly shaken by the disastrous news.

"Father's….dead? I know he's been sick for the past week but this...? And Uncle Frederick! I-I must go to see him myself. Why would he ever-?"

"No, Master Nicholas! Your uncle has ordered you killed on sight! We MUST get away from here as far as possible!"

As on cue, the hallway outside was suddenly filled with crashing noises, raucous shouts, running footsteps, and ferocious barks.

"There's no time to waste! Hurry, young master. I think we can escape through the back door. If we're lucky, we may be able to make it to the lifts undetected, perhaps hide ourselves in the lower levels of the spire…"

Still dumbstruck, Nicholas nevertheless hurried out the room with Wilbur in tow. _This can't be happening, _he thought with cold fear gripping his heart. _This can't be…. I'm not ready for this. I never was….and I never would be. _

* * *

><p><em>*Flashback*<em>

_"Look below us and tell me what you see."_

_Nicholas leaned closer to the large window and cautiously peered over the precipice. Miles below them, looking like small insects, buildings, roads, vehicles, and probably millions of invisible people sprawled across the land as far as eye could see, a dark grimy mass that made up the great city. _

_"Buildings, cars, smoke, the usual things….but those aren't what you had is mind, is it father?"_

_Nicholas looked up at the tall man standing next to him, a split image of the boy except he looked more tired and spent. Wrinkles formed deep creases across his face, while dark circles formed under his eyes. Still, the eyes themselves still burned brightly, as if they held a secret dream only he could know. _

_"No, it's not," Hollis Caverell, the 75__th__ count of Spire Septus, solemnly shook his head. "Far below us, my son, lies the mass of people stricken with poverty, ignorance, and despair, struggling everyday to survive. The worst thing, still, is the fact that nobody above them cares about how they live. None of us did—we, the supposed 'better men,' simply lolling about in our wealth acting as if we truly earned it ourselves. And we scheme and plot all the time to expand what we have already have plenty of, all for the sake of our egos and at the cost of untold lives."_

_"That sounds horrible," Nicholas murmured. "Is that why you've been establishing all those charities and welfare programs down below?"_

_"I've done all I could, Nicholas, and I'm still very afraid," sighed Hollis. "Afraid that even that will not be enough. The corruption grips this city in an iron fist, while the money and power are making us nobles less and less of human beings each passing second. I desire change, but to make one requires a power that I do not possess….I fear that perhaps in time, the only salvation for our city will come in the most drastic and most violent form."_

_A moment of silence passed between father and son. While Hollis calmly looked on, Nicholas on the other hand looked quite nervous. _

_"Father," Nicholas asked hesitantly. "I, too, am eager to keep your legacy alive when I grow older and wiser. But….I'm also afraid. Why, with my condition, how could I ever hope to keep this enterprise going? I-I don't think I can ever have that kind of strength and resolve you have…." The boy quickly looked down in shame. "I'm sorry, father."_

_His father's response was quick, but gentle. "Remember the words of our house, Nicholas?"_

_"Yes." _

_"What is it?"_

_Nicholas recited the one sentence he knew all too well by heart. "The future is ours."_

_"Your uncle would have us believe that it is telling us to go out there and seize all the glory and power for our house. The truth is different, Nicholas. The future is indeed ours, but no one person will hold onto it forever. For each generation to come, the future is theirs to make of, to see and fulfill whatever dreams they may have. Our house must live according to that ideal; not power or glory to be had, but hope and possibilities." _

_"Nothing is set in stone, son. So don't let your present circumstances dictate your life. Your life is what you make of it. Remember that." _

_Nicholas slowly nodded, desperately trying to process what had been just said to him. _

_"I will, father. I most definitely will." _

_*End Flashback*_

* * *

><p>Rounding the street corner, Nicholas doubled over as he was overcome with a violent fit of coughs. Wilbur stood over him with a worried expression, trying best to hold up his young master.<p>

"Master Nicholas, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Wilbur," Nicholas gasped as he composed himself. "It's just….I've never ran this much before."

"Yes, but we can't dally here. The lift is just ahead of us. Only a couple more blocks…."

Several balls of fire suddenly came flying, bursting around them in a shower of sparks as they hit the concrete pavement. Nicholas looked up to see several men rapidly running towards him, flanked by a pack of ferocious looking Houndours.

"Hurry, this way!"

The pair ducked into an alleyway, swiftly losing themselves in the debris of junk cluttering the path…..

"Here we are, young master. The lifts to the lower levels."

Ten minutes later, Nicholas found himself in a wide deserted plaza, ringed by enormous lift tubes that extended from the concrete ground all the way into the ceiling high above. Due to the late hour, there was no one by the surrounding vicinity to witness their escape. Wilbur proceeded to fiddle with the main control board while his master enjoyed a brief rest.

"The closest lift is only few levels below us. It will take a few minutes to get here, so in the meantime-."

Wilbur slung around from his back a small knapsack he had been carrying.

"I've managed to put together an emergency kit for you," Wilbur thrust it into Nicholas's arm. "Some food, spare clothing, little money and the like. Nothing too fancy, but it will keep you going while on the run."

"This doesn't look enough for both of us," Nicholas said looking over the pack. "Where's yours?"

The old butler simply grinned. "Oh, don't worry about me. I've already got mine stashed away somewhere safe…."

The lift was only a level below now, with less than a minute left before it reached them. Would it get here fast enough for a clean getaway? Nicholas anxiously looked down the empty street for any sign of their pursuers. Beside him, Wilbur suddenly cleared his throat.

"By Arceus, I almost forgot! Just one last thing," the butler reached into his jacket and withdrew a spherical object. "Your father meant for you to have this on your birthday. Fortunately, I've managed to sneak it out before anyone else could get to it…."

Nicholas gaped. Held out in the butler's hand was an ornate minimized pokeball, colored black with silver trims. The seal of House Cavarell, a silver eight-pointed star, was engraved on the top.

"I don't know which pokemon your father has chosen for you, but I'm sure it will protect you well in the days to come, young master."

Nicholas numbly accepted the pokeball and pocketed it securely in jacket. Behind him, the lift finally rose up before them with a welcoming _bing_, its spacious compartment thankfully empty of any other occupants. Wrenching open the metal screen door, Wilbur hurried Nicholas in, pausing a bit to press some buttons. Then, to Nicholas's horror, the butler stepped out of the lift closing and locking the screen behind him.

"Wilbur! What are you doing?"

Nicholas's fearful stare was met with a warm reassuring smile he had known and trusted for all his life.

"Doing my duty, master. I may be old, but I'm no pushover when it comes to Pokemon battles. I will hold those ruffians here and buy you as much time as I can."

"No! You can't do this! Wilbur, as your master, I command you to stop this madness!"

The lift gears began to groan and creak, however, and Nicholas could only watch helplessly as he slowly began to descend out of view.

"Be safe, Lord Caverell, and farewell. It has been my great honor to have served you."

The last thing Nicholas saw before the lift plunged into darkness was his butler slowly turning around to face the newly arriving pursuers, his hand pulling out a pokeball from his belt.

R&R!


	2. Background

Shadowgrave City, Kanto

The foundation for this massive metropolis was laid down about a thousand years ago by a corporation who originally intended to construct a self-sufficient factory town, manufacturing trainer goods such as potions, pokedex, or pokeballs. Over the decades that followed, however, the city soon began to fill with chemical laboratories, foundries, and plants producing all sorts of goods to meet the demands for consumer goods all over Kanto and beyond (where do you think those trainers get all their clothes, equipment, and other essential goodies? SHADOWGRAVE!). The city's population exploded, eventually surpassing twenty million souls residing in what was the largest city in the world.

The housing and sanitation—along with refurbishment, crime rate, and urban organization—soon became serious problems that would plague the city administration for years. The sheer size of the city made it impossible for a wide-scale demolition and reconstruction, worsened by the shortage of police manpower needed to keep the city from descending into lawlessness. Just when the overcrowded and wild city seemed to have ran out of options, one administrator came up with a solution that was as simple and cruel as it was—eventually—effective: he proposed simply that another layer of city be built over the old one, as to provide more room for the people and give the rich a chance to get away from the rapidly deteriorating environment. The resulting project was a stunning success, relocating more fortunate (and richer) citizens out of the slum-like conditions. The most destitute ones were left at old city below as a "skeleton crew," separate from the orderliness of the upper level.

The construction of the second tier was an important turning point in the city's dark history. Not only was the population allowed grow indefinitely, but administrators now also had a model plan to follow whenever things grew out of their control. They could simply build successive layers of cities over the chaotic masses, and start anew with the best and the brightest. For all its wealth, the Shadowgrave City—as the rulers would say—simply did not have the budget for the rest.

**Current appearance & structure of Shadowgrave: **

A thousand years later, Shadowgrave City is now a conglomeration of layers after layers of urban structures piled up on another, connected to each other via huge lift tubes that can transport dozens at once. No one knows exactly how many levels exist, only that the city can extend down for miles below the ground. Each level has its own apartments, shops, streets, etc.—pretty much like any average city. On top of all these layers stand about a dozen massive spires that reach high into the clouds, inhabited by wealthy noble houses that own virtually all major businesses and factories. Immediately below them, the middle class population lives on the first few top layers of the city; below them lies the vast factory levels where the lower class families live and work. In short, the higher up you go, the nicer the environment gets—not to mention finding wealthier people.

Below all of this lies the undercity.

Undercity is a collective term for lowest inhabited levels with barely any commodities such as running water, electricity, or heat. Yet, millions still call this place their home all the while fighting tooth and nail for limited resources allotted to them. The food and other necessary supplies arrive regularly from the upper levels (just to keep the people from rioting), which are by no means plentiful or in good quality. The living conditions are dismal and squalid, as most of the sewage and garbage from the upper levels end up in the treatment and recycling plants situated here. Crime is endemic, and gangs constantly fight for territory, resources, and prestige. Simply put, undercity is a dog-eat-dog world where the strongest, the smartest, and the luckiest individuals can survive.

Throughout the city's growth, the people have constantly migrated ever upwards, even the poorest lot, taking up the place once occupied by the wealthier people once they themselves had moved up. This trend has resulted in many lowest levels of the undercity being entirely deserted; no one knows what lies down there, and only the bravest and the most desperate ever venture down here to explore. Rumors speak of hidden riches as well as mazes of tunnels that lead nowhere, teleport panels that can take you Arceus-knows-where, and some malevolent forces lurking in wait in the darkness.

The mobility between these levels exists to some degrees, if not very difficult to achieve; only few families accumulate enough money to move out of their surroundings. The spires themselves are off-limits, however, privy to the rich nobility. The movement out of the city is even more stringent and highly regulated by the police, since large outward migration can jeopardize the day-to-day maintenance of Shadowgrave city. The civic authority is nominally in the city government, but the real powers behind it are the noble families of the spire, who uphold an authoritarian regime via their control of police and private militia forces.

(For a better mental image of Shadowgrave, just think of New York City and Detroit mashed in one, only a thousand times bigger, messier, grittier, and more crowded. Partly inspired by the hive worlds from Warhammer 40k universe; (go look it up ))

**Pokemon in Shadowgrave:**

Over the centuries, the growing cityscape and the desolate environment had—amazingly—given birth to a unique ecosystem of wild pokemon living in Shadowgrave itself. Clearly, one would not find every kind of pokemon just living around in the city; only certain kinds that had managed to adapt to the urban setting survive and even thrive here. High up in the spires, wealthy nobles would build biodomes to import and breed any pokemon they would want, either to cater to their own egos or just to pamper their children. Around the lower levels of the spire and the top layers, the most common pokemon are Growlithes and Houndours used for police duties, as well as some wild bird pokemon and rattatas scavenging for scraps. Undercity, however, is the place where most Pokemon thrive. Sewers are haven for poison pokemon, for example, while electric and steel-type pokemon are attracted to subterranean cables, abandoned factories, or junkyards. Rattatas, Meowths, Spinaraks, and Zubats are just as common to the undercity streets. Furthermore, some rarer Pokemon originating from the upper spires occasionally find themselves in the undercity and breeding, either by escaping or by being abandoned by their owners (Examples include Glameows, Zigzagoons, Machops, Growlithes, or Houndours). Meanwhile, the deepest abandoned levels are infested with ghost-type pokemon, making the trip there even more hazardous. Grass or water pokemon, due to lack of suitable environment, are virtually nonexistent in the undercity.

The inhabitants of the undercity have over time learned to live alongside the Pokemon, sometimes capturing them and training them for their own uses.

(Rule of thumb: just imagine your typical urban pests, like pigeons, cockroaches, rats, raccoons, stray cats, stray dogs, spiders, centipedes, and the ilk.)

**Gutter Runner(s)**:

A gutter runner(s) is a slang for an individual or a group of people who performs all sorts of jobs and services in the undercity to make ends meet (aka "hustling"). Gutter runners' main job is to venture down to the deeper abandoned levels of the undercity to explore and scavenge for any items of value, which is a rather dangerous task. Other activities they engage in include and are not limited to: scrounging for scrap metal in the junkyard, smuggling and transporting contraband goods, delivering messages across the city, stealing, extortion, hiring themselves out as bodyguards, carrying out dirty deeds on behest of wealthier men in power, or simply doing odd chores around the community.

Except for the most talented individuals, most gutter runners band together into several gangs that essentially operate as guilds, each with its hierarchies, traditions, specialties, and objectives. Life in these gutter gangs is a hazardous one, since gangs must fight one another for turfs and resources. Gang members are mostly drawn from teenagers of the undercity population with various motives for joining, some for excitement, others to make ends meet and to support their families. All gutter runners carry at least one pokemon around them both for personal protection and to make their jobs easier.

**Note: I need OCs! Feel free to use the info above as a reference guide….**


	3. Fight and Flight

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm sort of new to writing fiction, so hopefully the story will improve over time….

Disclaimer: I do not own pokemon, obviously.

* * *

><p><strong>Fight and Flight<strong>

Nicholas awoke with a splitting headache.

For a split second, unfamiliar surroundings almost threw him in panic until memories of last night began to flood back. Then he remembered everything: his father's death, Uncle Frederick's betrayal, the flight from his home, and Wilbur….

_Wilbur. _The old butler had been there when Nicholas was born, a sickly child who weighed much less than average infants should. After his mother died, Wilbur had been the one to bring Nicholas up, teach him his first words, and calm him down whenever night terrors sent him crying from his bed. Throughout Nicholas's entire life spent in isolation, buried in his books and studies, Wilbur acted as his teacher, friend, and effectively his second father.

Whatever happened to Wilbur, he would not have gone down so easily, Nicholas mused sadly as a small lump rose to his throat. He could've gotten away safely, evaded his pursuers, and perhaps even now, was wandering the streets looking for him….

_But he's not here, _a more rational part of his mind interjected. The_ best thing he could do now was to survive, make the best of the situation. Wilbur would not have wanted him to sit here and mope. _Nicholas quickly looked around. He remembered running as fast as his legs could carry him after the lift reached the base of the spire. Then he had stumbled across a deserted park with an empty maintenance shed which had been thankfully unlocked…. Brooms, rakes, and hedge clipping tools lying about appeared to corroborate his memory. But this was no proper shelter. He needed to move on, find a place where he could get some food and perhaps someone to help him.

Nicholas felt a weight behind his back and remembered his knapsack. Yanking it open, he found on the top of the pile a set of neatly folded clothes and a pair of sturdy looking shoes that had been crammed into the tight space. A pair of black jeans, thick woolen socks, gray t-shirt, and a dark green hoodie soon lay to the side as Nicholas checked out the rest of the supply. Some food, little cash, a first aid kit, and a flashlight were all that remained.

It wasn't much, but still better than nothing.

And then there was the pokeball. The small sphere felt cold in his hands, but lighter than it looked. Of course, it was by no means Nicholas's first experience with Pokemon; many of the fellow noblemen kept them, and there were also plenty of critters running around his family's estate. Still, his fragile health had made any prolonged contact with the creatures impossible and prevented him from ever personally owning one. Nicholas had resorted instead to reading as much as he could about pokemon, among other topics….until now.

Nicholas enlarged the pokeball and gently thumbed the button for a few seconds, but instead shrunk it down again and stowed it into his pocket. Despite his growing curiosity, this simply wasn't the best time or place to become chummy with his new pokemon. Finding a safe shelter was the priority at the moment, and the proper introduction could wait till later.

After a quick change of clothes, Nicholas cautiously left the shed and briskly jogged across the park. There were only a few bystanders around at this early hour in the morning, who—at least Nicholas hoped—had not noticed him slipping out. Still, he had thrown the hood over his head just in case his uncle's men would be out looking for him. His stuffy old suit and dress shoes had been left behind at the shed; there was no point in taking something he would not need while on the run.

The main streets were more crowded than the park, filled with commuters leaving for work across the city. Cars jammed the roadways and pedestrians constantly streamed in and out of the subways, raising hell of a racket typical to a metropolis. Casually mixing into the crowd, Nicholas suddenly realized this was the first time he was venturing outside the spire. He was so used to seeing things from far above; here, on the top level of Shadowgrave City, everything seemed to tower above him, the skyscrapers, the people, and most of all the colossal spires to the distance that pierced the high clouds. It was intimidating, to say the least; a far cry from the comfort of his room and the plushy chairs he was so fond of using while reading.

Looking around the city sight, Nicholas suddenly spotted a sizeable, white marble building about a block away from him. Despite the distance, he had no trouble reading the large yellow letters emblazoned across the façade.

_Metropolitan Police: Precinct 14 _

Nicholas slowly began to laugh as an idea took form in his head, so simple and perfect that it was hard to believe he hadn't thought of it yet. Of course, he could just go and report the whole incident to the police! A terrible crime had been committed against him that demanded justice; sure, a noble was involved, but so was he. Surely, the police would not refuse a claim brought forth by a nobleman, and one from a major house at that. This entire mess could be settled swiftly in blow; innocent deaths could be avenged, and perhaps he can return home and look for Wilbur….

With sudden confidence, Nicholas quickly made his way across to the police station and pushed himself past the glass doors. The compound was surprisingly largely empty, most of the officers having gone out for early morning traffic and patrol duties around the block. Still, a few policemen were at their posts, lazily shuffling through paperwork while sipping coffee. None of them appeared to have noticed a scrawny teenager walking in.

Nicholas approached one of the officers seated near the reception desk who was absent mindedly scribbling something down. It wasn't until he cleared his throat that he got the man's attention.

"What do ya want, kid?" the officer looked almost bored to the point of being completely apathetic.

"I am Nicholas Caverell, scion of the House Cavarell of the Spire Septus. I am here to report the most grievous crime done against me, and to demand justice."

The policeman briefly stared at Nicholas with a skeptical expression. Of course, it didn't help that he didn't exactly look like a nobleman at the moment; with his current getup, Nicholas looked more like an unruly teenager with a penchant for poorly coordinated pranks. Meeting the man's gaze, Nicholas began to wish he hadn't left his suit behind at the park shed.

"All right then, young master Cavarell. Let me take you to the captain's office. If you'll follow me this way…."

Nicholas blinked. The policeman was rising from his seat, the look of skepticism replaced by a friendly grin. As he followed the man down the hall, Nicholas silently breathed a sigh of relief. The end of this nightmare seemed close at hand.

* * *

><p>"….Well, this is a serious accusation you're bringing up, master Cavarell. The man you're accusing is an outstanding pillar in our community, and a nobleman at that."<p>

The air was almost frigid in the interview room, although a battered old heater stood at the corner. The police captain, a portly balding man in his forties, drummed his fingers across the desk as he gazed at Nicholas sitting across from him. A steaming cup of tea lay in front of the boy, quite forgotten at the present moment.

"But, sir, it's true! I would never lie about something like this!"

"I understand your anxiety, master Caverell, but this sort of….scandalous affair merits some investigation beforehand. I can't just have my men charging up the spire based on a single claim-"

"My father's loyal servants were killed only last night, captain," Nicholas burst out indignantly. "And my closest friend sacrificed himself so I could make my escape. I will not be going anywhere until some justice has been done!"

The captain stared at the angry teen for a moment, and sighed in resignation.

"I'll need to speak to my superiors about this, then. Why don't you just wait here while I step outside and make a few calls?"

"Thank you, captain. I very much appreciate your support."

Nicholas scowled faintly as the captain left the room, closing the door behind him. In truth, he had been half-expecting an instant cooperation from the police. After all, it was an open secret around the spires that the police always catered to the nobles' every whim. Even the police commissioner himself had been present at his father's parties several times, always smiling and offering honeyed flatteries. So why couldn't he receive the same treatment? Perhaps he lacked the same natural charisma his father or his uncle possessed in abundance.

Once again, Nicholas realized with sadness how unlike he was from his own father.

Caught in his own musings, Nicholas unconsciously reached for his tea until he remembered too late how hot the mug was. A splash of hot tea sloshed over the side and onto his pants as he let go of the cup with a loud clatter. With a sigh, Nicholas left his seat and headed for the door. Maybe he could find some tissues in the restroom to clean himself up.

As he opened the door, Nicholas found himself staring at the captain speaking into his cell phone, in the middle of the sentence that froze him to the spot.

"Yes, my lord Frederick. I have the boy right here at the station. I'll have my men bring him right up-"

The man, having sensed Nicholas's presence stopped, turned, and gaped at the teenager standing at the doorway.

Without hesitation, Nicholas took off down the hallway as fast as he could.

"Stop right there! Freeze!"

The captain wheezed out behind him, but the blood rushing through Nicholas's head damped his hearing all except to his own panicked inner voice. How could this be happening? But yet, how could he have not expected this? His uncle had already ensnared the police force in his iron grip, turning them into his militia force. There was nowhere to turn now; it was now either flight or….worse.

To Nicholas's horror, two officers stepped into the hallway in front to block his escape. Behind him, the captain ran up huffing flanked by two more officers. As far as he could see, Nicholas saw no other ways to run.

"Let's not make this hard, kid," captain drawled icily. "The more you resist, the uglier this is going to get. So what's it gonna be?"

"Why don't I just grab him, captain? That way we can all go home easy and collect that reward Lord Frederick promised us!"

On the police officers rushed forward, his arms outstretched as if to make a strong grab. Nicholas involuntarily cringed, bracing himself for the impending assault….when something suddenly burst forth from his pocket with a loud _pop_, a flash of white light that instantly formed something solid, moving, and very much alive.

_He had completely forgotten about the pokeball in his pocket._

A small but lithe body, covered in black fur; sharp narrow eyes with pointy ears and a feather-like tail; all topped with a pair of wicked looking claws….Nicholas barely had time to register all the details before the pokemon savagely launched itself against the nearest policeman, who fell back yelling out in surprise and fear.

_A Sneasel. _His father had given a Sneasel for his birthday.

With a fierce snarl, the dark weasel struck the man across his face with a resounding thwack, sending him stumbling over. Even before he hit the floor, Sneasel swiftly placed himself between Nicholas and the rest of his assailants, its claws poised for another attack. Still, even as the captain and his men backed away, the pokemon remained on the spot and instead shot a questioning backward glance at Nicholas.

With a jolt, Nicholas suddenly realized that the Sneasel—his Sneasel now, actually—was expecting commands. Even amidst panic, he managed to remember some of the moves it would know. Still, to order a pokemon to attack human beings….

The sight of the policemen drawing out their own pokeballs shattered his reservation into pieces.

"Sneasel, freeze their pokeballs with icy wind!"

The weasel pokemon took in a deep breath, puffing its chest before expelling a gale of ice from its mouth. In a flash, the policemen found their pokeballs frozen to their hands, encased in thick blocks of ice. Seizing his chance, Nicholas darted towards the nearest unguarded door. His assailants tried to give a clumsy chase in vain, made impossible by heavy ice chunks stuck to their hands. Shouts of empty threats followed Nicholas as he slipped past the door, when something suddenly grabbed him from behind. With a yelp, Nicholas turned to see his Sneasel latched onto his shoulder, looking quite unhappy. In his hurry, he had forgotten to recall his pokemon.

"Err….sorry about that," Nicholas muttered sheepishly as sneasel gave him a peeved glance. Obviously, ditching your new pokemon and running would not be the best way to make a fine first impression, he berated himself.

"Okay, Sneasel. Why don't you….use that icy wind on that door behind us, seal it shut so no one can get through? And—oh, would you please stop giving me that look? I really didn't mean to leave you behind like that!"

With a classic you-owe-me look, Sneasel nevertheless turned to administer a healthy dose of icy wind around the crack of the door and freezing it shut. It would take some time before the incompetent policemen could break the door down, if they could somehow find a way to defrost their hands. Honestly, how those lazy bums got the jobs he would never know—

"Hey, nice job whopping those idiots, sunshine~"

Nicholas jumped. Looking around, he found himself looking down a long corridor lined with jail cells. It looked completely deserted….except for the nearest one occupied by a teenage girl who was smiling at him.

She appeared be around Nicholas's age, with a shoulder length, straight brown hair, caramel eyes framed by black rimmed glasses. The girl was wearing an orange and black checkered hoodie that was kept open to reveal a black tank top, black shorts, and yellow Converse sneakers.

"Oh, don't be such a scaredy cat! I'm not going to bite….probably," the girl out a playful giggle. "Now, if you're done wetting your pants, little boy, why don't you be a doll and fetch me those keys hanging on the wall over there?"

Nicholas instantly spotted a ring of keys hanging on a nail on the far wall, next to a desk and a large cabinet. Though wary, he nevertheless went over to pick them up; first, the girl seemed relatively harmless and friendly, and second, he was all too happy to free anyone those traitorous policemen had locked up.

It took a couple tries before the cell door opened with a loud clang. Before Nicholas could say anything, the girl ran out and immediately rushed over to the cabinet, which she began to rummage through. Nicholas stood by dumbly as papers and clips rained around him.

The girl proceeded to extract a backpack and an mp3 player with a large headphone attached, all of which she carefully placed beside her. Then, with a cry of joy, she took out three pokeballs before her.

"Oh, my babies! I missed you guys so much!" the girl squealed as she showered the spheres with kisses. "Thank Arceus those meanies didn't do anything awful to you!"

"Um, if you don't mind, I don't think we should be staying around here any longer…" Nicholas ventured.

"Oh, can't you just give a girl a little break? A tearful reunion in progress here, hello?" The girl shot back in a slightly annoyed voice.

"Don't you know how nerve wracking it is to have your pokemon taken away from you, even for a short time? But maybe a little boy like you wouldn't understand~"

"For your record, I'm not a little boy. You don't even look older than I am-"

"Yeah, whatever. Anyways, I guess I owe you a thank you for springing me out. I'm Sammy. Sammy Riverdale." Smiling, the girl extended her hand.

"I'm Nicho—Nick," Nicholas muttered, catching himself at the last moment; it wouldn't be too wise to divulge his full name. He had learned already all too well how appearances can be quite deceiving. "And you're very welcome." He took her hand for a quick shake, briefly wishing that the girl didn't have such a _healthy_ grip.

"Well, then. _Nick_,_" _the girl—Sammy—said as she quickly put on her belongings and clipped her pokeballs to her side. "I would be glad to talk to you a little more, but like you said, this is not the best time. So, what's the game plan?"

"Game plan? Oh. How about….getting outta here?" Nicholas offered as he looked for a possible exit route. There seemed to be none, other than another door to the other end of the corridor.

"Now you're talkin' sense, little boy! What are we waiting for then? Let's be off!" The girl took off towards the door, leaving Nicholas standing in wake.

"Think it would be a good idea to stick with her, Sneasel?" Nicholas asked quietly to his pokemon on his shoulder.

"Somehow, I have a feeling that trouble's going to follow her wherever she goes. But then again, do I even have a choice right now?"

Sneasel let out what suspiciously sounded like a gleeful chortle.

* * *

><p>"Tell me again how long you were locked up in here?" Nicholas asked as he emerged out into the busy streets five minutes later. The crowd was not as dense as before, but there were still enough people to blend into in order to avoid detection.<p>

"Oh, about a couple days. Good thing you sprung me, too, 'cause I was actually beginning to get desperate for a shower," Sammy replied casually. "Did you know those guys actually expected me to do my lady businesses on an open toilet? I bet they just wanted to take a peek, those frakkin' perverts! But then again, it's lucky I didn't eat or drink much over the past few days."

"Really?"

"Yup, I'm usually too focused on my job to take time to eat. I snack, though, as often as I can. By the way, want some gum?" Sammy held out a packet of sickly-pink bubble gums that just screamed sugar.

"No thanks. And exactly what is this 'job' you're talking about?"

"Oh, let's just say I take a few *_ahem* sensitive_ photos that certain people would be happy to have in their possession, or get rid of," Sammy smiled a wicked grin. Ripping open the wrappings, she casually tossed several pieces of gum into her mouth and chewed with a blissful look on her face.

"Of course, in this case, I got a little careless and let those pigs get their hands on me, so—oh dear, that reminds me…."

Sammy quickly slung her backpack around and took out a battered looking camera with a giant lens attached to it. She let out a loud groan after opening its back panel.

"Ah crap! Those idiots took away my film! Probably destroyed and lying littered in some dumpster. A week's work gone just like that! Ibrahim won't be happy at all."

Cursing, Sammy kicked at the ground in frustration.

"Who's Ibrahim?"

"Our boss. You know, the top dog. He organizes everything, looks after us, and makes sure everything's going in the right direction. He's usually cool about messing up, but our finances haven't been so great lately, so I don't know…."

"And by 'us' I mean our gang," she added quickly seeing Nicholas's puzzled expression.

"You belong in a gang?"

"In a matter of speaking. It's not as bad as it sounds. It's not like we go around beating up people we don't like. We're just a bunch of guys trying to make a living around here, you know. Doing what we can, getting what we can. Life around here can sometimes be a bit tough."

The pair had walked for a couple blocks by now, leaving the police station behind and out of sight. So far, there hadn't been any signs of policemen giving chase, to Nicholas's relief. The tight crowd would pose problems for anyone trying to spot them.

"And what about you, Nick? I haven't heard anything about yourself yet. Where are you from?"

"Well, I—" Nicholas started, quickly trying to think of a cover story, when Sammy suddenly blanched.

"Uh oh. Looks like your story might have to wait awhile, Nick. We've got company."

To his alarm, Nicholas saw ahead two patrolmen swiftly weaving their way through the crowd towards them. By the looks on their faces, there was no doubt that they had already spotted him.

"Quick! This way!"

Sammy pulled Nicholas along into a nearby alleyway only to find a tall chain link fence blocking their path. Frowning, Sammy stepped up and rattled the fence to test its strength.

"Hmm, maybe we can just climb over this thing. It doesn't look that high."

"Too late," Nicholas murmured as he saw the patrolmen step into the alleyway after them. Their faces filled with glee upon seeing the teenagers cornered.

"You have no way out, boy! Why don't you just lay down your pokeball and come with us quietly?" One of them taunted. Both men had their pokeballs out, although Nicholas noticed they had no extra ones clipped to their belts.

"Look here guys, can we just talk about this for a sec….?" Sammy stepped forward with hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement."

"Shut up, midget. We have no interest in you, unless you choose to side with the boy here," snapped the other policeman.

Sammy's mouth dropped open in a dumbstruck expression, which quickly replaced with an indignant rage.

"Oh~no. You just did NOT call me a midget! You just had to go there, didn't you, you pig! Well you know what? As a matter of fact, I AM siding with this guy here. I'm making his business my business!"

"Suit yourself. Looks like we might have to thrash the both of you," snarled the policeman as both man released their pokemon with a pop. A Growlithe and a Granbull appeared in front of them, fiercely growling.

"Well, they kinda look like rookies. Probably fresh out of the academy. I think we can take them, Nick," sighed Sammy as she took up one of her pokeballs. "We'll get out of here the old fashioned way: a good ole' pokemon whop-ass-a-thon! You ready?"

"Sure," Nicholas mumbled as he took out Sneasel's pokeball.

"Okay then! Here I come! Let's go, Ombra!"

A white flash burst from Sammy's pokeball, which formed into a big, snarling canine with reddish eyes, black fur and whitish belly: a Mightyena. The dark pokemon was soon joined by a smaller but equally vicious Sneasel.

"Ombra can take care of that Granbull. Your Sneasel should take that Growlithe, but watch out for its fire attacks!" Sammy said as she coolly eyed their opponents' pokemons lunging into battle. "Well then, Ombra, dodge that Granbull's attack and counter with a Take Down!"

The Mightyena barked and proceeded to follow its trainer's order with a practiced elegance. Nicholas could not afford to watch, however, as the foe Growlithe came barreling towards his Sneasel, fangs bared.

"Growlithe, use your ember attack!"

Several sprays of fire burst from the canine's mouth, some of which landed on Sneasel and earning angry hisses.

"Sneasel, just….close the gap and slash him with your claw!"

The weasel pokemon let out a defiant cry and leapt forward. Dodging another spray of ember, it jumped off the side of the building to propel itself upwards, coming down on the Growlithe from above. The two pokemon were instantly locked in fierce melee brawl, fangs against claws. It was not an easy fight, Nicholas noticed with discomfort. Despite Sneasel's ferocity, Growlithe appeared to be somewhat heavier, not to mention the type advantage. In contrast to the deadlock, the fight between Sammy's Mightyena and Granbull on the other hand appeared to be one-sided. Although Granbull tried to clamp down with its strong jaws, Mightyena managed to evade every slow blow and come back with a bodily charge or a bite or two. The purple canine seemed almost exhausted by the ordeal.

"Ombra, finish him off with a crunch!"

Ombra obliged at once by seizing its foe with its sharp teeth followed by vigorous shakes. Granbull slumped to the floor in defeat, whining plaintively.

Meanwhile, the Growlithe had Sneasel pinned down under its body; the weasel was fighting back ferociously though, its paws pushing away the opponent's jaws to prevent a deadly shower of flames. Still, even as the Growlithe strained to redirects its flaming maws towards the pinned enemy, Sneasel finally reeled back one of its paws and gave a vicious slash across the canine's face. The fire pokemon fell back howling in pain, only to be blindsided by charging Ombra, smashed against the wall and knocked out cold.

"That's a wrap, I believe," Sammy said smugly. "Now unless you morons are especially fond of getting pummeled and mauled, I suggest you haul your asses out of here!"

"Don't think this isn't over!" yelled one of the police officers as the duo skipped a hasty retreat with their defeated pokemon. "The police will find you, boy! We have the whole city on a lockdown!"

"They always love to use threatening words, don't they? If only they spent all that time talking to train their pokemon instead…." Sammy muttered scornfully as she recalled Ombra to its pokeball. Nicholas returned Sneasel into the pokeball as well, noting with small anxiety that his pokemon had suffered some injuries from the battle. Despite the victory, he knew that sheer luck had carried the day; if Sammy hadn't been here, victory might have been possible. Obviously, he needed to learn to become a better trainer.

Turning around, Sammy eyed Nicholas with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, Nick. You've done something quite naughty, haven't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"See, the thing is, those policemen usually don't bother tracking down petty criminals like us. They're just too lazy, for one thing, and face it; they know that catching one small crook won't make such a big difference around here. But the police are apparently combing the entire city for you, which means….you're not just any ordinary 'petty criminal'."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Nicholas replied defensively.

"Oh, I don't want to pry," Sammy raised her hand nonchalantly. "And I won't, unless you want to tell me yourself. I'm just saying that it would not be safe for you to be sticking around here."

"But….but I can't just leave the city! The police are always at the gate checkpoints screening who goes in or out."

"Yeah, you won't stand a chance against them. I bet you can't even properly bluff your way past them! Look at you! No offense, but your entire body language just screams 'clumsy'. They'll have you captured and gutted within days." Sammy chuckled.

As much as he wanted to protest, Nicholas knew she was right. He had never left the cloistered spire his entire life; he wouldn't last a day in the city proper knowing absolutely nothing about survival. What could he do? Where could he go?

"Perhaps, I could offer a little help. I mean I do owe you for springing me earlier, after all."

Nicholas stared incredulously. From Sammy's expression alone, however, he knew she was being completely serious.

"How? The police are everywhere! You heard what that man said."

"Then we go someplace where the police can't reach us, someplace where every policeman dreads to venture…."

"What are you talking about? What place?"

Sammy's smile was at once sinister and triumphant.

"Why, none other than the place I come from, little boy….._the undercity_."

* * *

><p>Other OCs will appear in the following chapter, so please be patient….R&amp;R!<p> 


	4. Welcome to the Concrete Jungle

**Sorry for the delay folks! This chapter took way longer than I had intended. Sit back, enjoy, and comment!**

* * *

><p><strong>Welcome to the Concrete Jungle<strong>

The gears slowly ground to a halt as the descending lift made its fourth stop. Though dozens of passengers had boarded on the top level, successive stops had thinned the crowd down to barely a handful. Gone were the men and women in suits, ties, and clean dresses. Those still remaining on board looked shabby and grizzled, apparently too poor to look after themselves properly. As the door slid open with a harsh metallic screech, the lot sluggishly filed out, making no attempt to hide their fatigue.

"And this is our stop."

Nicholas followed Sammy out and paused at the sight that greeted him. The scenery before him was surprisingly peaceful, though hazy and smelly; large factory buildings dominated the cityscape, surrounded by rows of drab apartments. Unlike the frenetic pedestrians at the upper level rush hour, what people he could see around looked lethargic and defeated.

"This is not the undercity, is it?"

"Nah," Sammy laughed. "This is only the last factory level. We got a bit more to go before we reach the undercity. And a small trip after that to get to our turf."

"But how are we actually getting there?" Nicholas asked, puzzled. "The lift doesn't seem to go any further down. Is there another one around we can take?"

"There is, but that one is used by the city government to send down food and supplies to the undercity. No one can use it, 'cause there's actually a penalty for undercity people moving upwards without a proper permit."

"Then how come you're out here? I'm guessing with a job like yours, you would need to spend quite some time in the upper levels."

"Oh, there's always a way, though the government likes to claim otherwise," Sammy chortled. "Gangers like me just use sewer lines or abandoned subway tunnels to get up here. And with the right price, the security guys just overlook those few people slipping in and out. Besides, it's not that we're permanently settling in the upper levels or anything."

Looking down her watch, she let out a little sigh. "Hmm, today's Monday….which means the sewers are gonna be flooded for the next twenty four hours or so. I guess we'll just have to use the chute, then. Now, if you'll just follow me-"

"So how long have you lived in the undercity?" Nicholas asked as he followed Sammy down the street.

"Let's see….as of today, two years, five months, and twenty-four days."

"That's it? That means—"

"Yeah~ Technically, I'm not actually from around here, you see" Sammy replied. "I was born and raised at a place called Mossdeep City in Hoenn. You know where that is?"

"But that place is really far away! How come you ended up in Shadowgrave, of all places?"

"Well, after my parents split up, I decided that I was old enough to strike out on my own, and give my dad some private space while I'm at it. Then I traveled for some time, drifting from place from place….until I somehow ended up here," Sammy ended with a shrug. "I guess that's the best explanation I've got."

"Then why _here_?" Nicholas frowned. "Why don't you just live in the upper levels where everything's so much nicer and safer?"

Sammy chuckled and gave Nicholas an amused look. "My, my. You are a one curious little boy, aren't you? Questions after questions just pouring outta you like a waterfall…."

"Wouldn't you be, if you were in my position?"

"Eh, good point. Well, first of all, there's that whole excitement thing. I mean the undercity can be very dangerous—believe me—but still, how often do you get to make a living taking scandalous photographs while staying one step ahead of the law? Oh, you have no idea how thrilling it is~"

"You mean just like the time you were thrown in jail or chased down by the police? You didn't seem too thrilled behind bars…." Nicholas muttered sarcastically.

"And yet, you happened to come by like a miracle and spring me out at the last minute! Now that is what I call an adventure of a lifetime…" Sammy said dreamily. "And then, there are the people."

"What about the people?"

"It's just that after some time, I've come to notice what a terrible lie this entire city's been living in! Down in the undercity, millions struggle in poverty while the rest of Shadowgrave just ignore them and pretend all's good and well. After knowing all that, I just couldn't stand idly by and do nothing! Luckily, I happened to befriend a few like-minded gangers who happened to be on a mission in the upper levels. Next thing I know, I've been offered a place among them down in the undercity, where I can realize my goal of helping the needy and make a few bucks on the side."

"That's….quite brave of you," Nicholas said incredulously. "And I thought gangs weren't that much into charity."

"Oh, most of them aren't," Sammy replied. "But we're different. Our duties also include protecting our neighborhood, helping the residents, and making sure that the provisions are distributed fairly among all of us—and here we are!"

Nicholas looked around expecting to find a staircase of a sort, only to realize Sammy was clambering into a garbage chute sticking out of a building wall.

"You're kidding."

"It's not as scary as it looks. Besides, this thing hasn't been used for a long time, so everything's clean," Sammy said cheerfully. "Just think of it as a long playground slide."

With an excited whoop, she disappeared down the chute in a flash. Seeing no other choice, Nicholas climbed in awkwardly only to balk at the dark tunnel sloping down before him. Panic and vertigo seized him as his imagination began to play several scenarios involving his gruesome fall to death.

"Maybe I ought to wait for a while," Nicholas muttered to himself nervously. "Calm myself down a little first…."

His pokeball suddenly popped open, and Nicholas found himself staring at Sneasel standing next to him.

"You're not supposed to pop out whenever you want, you know," Nicholas frowned. "Why don't you go back in—hey, w-what are you doing?"

Sneasel slowly raised his paw high with an evil grin.

"No, don't you dare! I'm commanding you—"

_THWACK_!

Nicholas went tumbling headfirst down the garbage chute screaming, closely followed by his gleeful Sneasel.

* * *

><p>"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Sammy smiled happily as she stood over Nicholas. "Your Sneasel seemed to have enjoyed it more than you did, though."<p>

"Screw….you….both," Nicholas moaned as he lay crumpled face down on top on a pile of cardboard boxes, which thankfully cushioned his rough arrival. His Sneasel was leaning against his prone body, purring contently and grooming itself.

"Ah, well. You'll get a hang of it eventually. At any rate—"

Sammy stepped off to one side and swept out her right arm in a dramatic fashion.

"Nick, welcome to the undercity."

Nick gaped at the scenery before him as he scrambled onto his feet. Though he had often pictured the place in his imagination many times, not even one version came close to what he saw now.

A cityscape of decrepit buildings, ramshackle hovels, and half-demolished ruins stretched as far as Nicholas's eyes could see, bustling with thousands of people. Used to the orderliness of the upper levels, the squalid conditions here came to him as a shock. Garbage and debris littered the streets; buildings were covered with grime, soot, and graffiti; even the people looked slovenly in appearance, wearing drab worn-out clothing and in many cases, rags. It was as if a shantytown had been haphazardly put together on top of a bombed out city.

The large gratings on the ceiling far above filtered in some sunlight, though nowhere nearly enough to provide adequate illumination. Instead, rows of poorly maintained street lamps lit the dark streets, casting pall shadows onto the crowds below. A faint smell of acrid smoke hung low in the air, as if something was constantly burning.

"If you think this is bad, wait until we're actually walking through the streets," Sammy said nonchalantly. "Our turf is actually one level below us, and the closest stairs are in the middle of the central plaza."

"You sure there's no other way around?" Nicholas whispered, his shock only starting to wear off.

"Just stay close behind me, don't do anything stupid, keep your eyes open, and you'll be fine. And I suggest you keep your Sneasel out until we make it to the stairs. Pokemon actually help stave off pickpockets and other unsavory characters lurking among the crowd." With a pop, Ombra appeared next to its trainer, eagerly wagging its tail. In addition, Sammy also took out and slipped on a small black armband with what appeared to be a small emblem stitched onto it.

"This is the mark of our gang," she explained quickly. "It's a silver wing, see. 'cause that's the name of our gang: the Silver Wings! It's best to wear this here so that the civilians will know not to mess with a gang member."

"Doesn't look much like a wing to me," Nicholas said as he studied the armband. "Kinda more like….a drop of snot."

"So sue me, Mr. High-standard. None of us are any good at sewing, so we just have to make do with what we have! Besides, everyone else seems to respect the mark."

"They probably call you Nose-wipers behind your back…."

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing."

* * *

><p>As tense as he was, Nicholas could not help but stare as he and Sammy walked through the shabby street. Many of the buildings standing either side of them weren't too tall, but he could still spot to the distance some larger buildings that would've been a mall or an office building at one point. Now, every habitable structure seemed to be used either as homes, shady stores, or street vendors peddling all sorts of junk imaginable. Dirty laundry hung from the clotheslines strung high above the street, and tattered flyers were plastered onto grimy telephone poles.<p>

"This whole district is called the Thief's Bounty, the hub of the entire undercity. It's a perfect place to be if you want to sell something, buy something, trade information, gamble, drink, or indulge in all sorts of other vices," Sammy said. "I suppose you could call this the 'fanciest' place you'll ever see around for miles. The other two levels aren't as pretty."

"Pretty seems to be an overstatement," muttered Nicholas uneasily as he quickened his pace to stay closer to Sammy. In his wildest dreams, he had not imagined the undercity to be so crowded and…."lively." Raggedy pedestrians—many of them looking like homicidal criminals—milled around them, talking in loud voices, haggling with the shopkeepers, or lounging in the corners quite suspiciously. Shopkeepers and vendors displayed plethora of strange wares—from assortment of car parts to a pot of greasy looking stew—while keeping sharp eyes on the customer/thieves and hefting heavy clubs. More entrepreneurial individuals took to the streets, offering discounts and "bargain" deals to anyone willing to listen ("Need a new toilet installed? I have one just freshly gathered from the junkyard in a fabulous condition!"). Occasional small battered cars and motorbikes passed through with horns blazing, scattering people left and right. To his right, Nicholas saw a brightly colored neon sign advertising a gambling den, in front of which stood a gaggle of prostitutes soliciting the patrons. Small children ran barefoot squealing with laughter under the careful watch of their mothers. To Nicholas's amazement, there were even plenty of wild pokemon mingling with the people themselves, such as Rattatas, Pidgeys, and Spinaraks. No one seemed to be disturbed in the least by this bizarre cohabitation arrangement.

Fortunately, though several people turned to stare at Sammy and Nicholas, everyone seemed to be keeping some distance away from them. Nicholas didn't know whether the armband was doing any good, but knew that Ombra walking beside Sammy and Sneasel perched on his shoulder—looking very excited, for some reason—were better deterrents then a piece of rag.

Suddenly, a loud crash ahead of them brought Sammy and Nicholas to a stop. Two slovenly men came tumbling out of a nearby bar and onto their path, mercilessly pounding at each other and looking thoroughly drunk. The pedestrians quickly gathered around, transfixed and enthralled by the brawl.

Shouted curses and flying blood drops quickly rose to a fever pitch when something metallic glinted in one man's hand. In a flash, his opponent fell to the ground, gurgling helplessly as blood gushed from his cut throat. The man with the knife promptly staggered back into the bar as if nothing had happened. Nicholas stood in horror and shock, even as the onlookers quickly descended upon the dying man. A flurry of pulling and shoving later, the dying man was left only in his shabby underwear while the scavengers made off with his belongings.

"Sorry you had to see that," Sammy muttered quietly beside him. "One of the more unsavory aspects of living in the undercity….but again, I told you things could get dangerous."

Making sure her foot didn't touch the body, Sammy gingerly stepped around the bloody carnage. Nicholas, wide-eyed in shock, followed suit, briefly looking down at the man's face. His eyes were glassy and unmoving, quite dead.

"Oh, and one more advice," said Sammy as she cast one last backward glance towards the corpse. "If I were you, I wouldn't touch any meat products sold around here for the next couple weeks."

* * *

><p>After ten minutes—though it felt a lot longer—they reached a wide open plaza, center of which lay gigantic set of stairs leading downwards. As tall and thick as a small apartment building, Nicholas knew at once that it would take at least ten minutes to walk down the colossal structure.<p>

"Now I have to warn you, Nick, that while Thief's Bounty is no pushover, the lower levels of the undercity are in some ways worse."

"Normally, I would be terrified, but I think I'm finally getting a rough idea of what this place is about," Nick sighed in resignation as the pair recalled their respective pokemon. "Alright, lay it on me. So, what's down _there_?"

Sammy grinned widely.

"Why, gang warfare of course! As long as no single gang gathers way too much power for itself, we are free to fight and thump to our hearts' desire. Heck, what does it say when Thief's Bounty's officially designated as the neutral zone?"

"That we're about to walk into a slaughterhouse and I'm the cow?"

"Oh don't be such a baby."

The second level of undercity was as shabby as the one before it, albeit less crowded and calmer. Many buildings seemed to have been half torn-down and dilapidated, like empty shells left standing after all the valuable materials have been removed. Still, signs of life were everywhere—old newspapers covering glassless windows, smoke wafting from the makeshift chimneys….or a mob of thugs sporting mohawks and tattoos speeding by on a pack of rumbling motorcycles.

"How far is this turf of yours?" Nicholas asked nervously.

"About five blocks, if we take the shortcut. We have signed deals with other gangs, so we can pass through their territories, provided we do not cause any trouble."

The pair spent the next twenty minutes or so navigating through the messy streets fortunately without being challenged. About three blocks down, however, Sammy suddenly stopped.

"Huh, this is rather strange," said Sammy as she scanned both sides of the street. "I don't see them anywhere."

"See who?"

"We're on the intersection between 54th and Evergreen Avenue right now," she muttered absent mindedly, her eyes still searching the vicinity. "This place actually belongs to the Mavericks, a gang we're on friendly terms with. At this time of day, there should always be at least a couple of them making patrols around the neighborhood. So why don't I see any of them?"

"They could've skipped the patrol today," Nicholas offered. "Or maybe they're sick. You can't go around when you're sick."

"Nah, I've known the Mavericks for some time now, and trust me, they're not the ones to just abandon their usual routine. Besides, an entire gang going down with some flu? Highly unlikely."

The shabby tenement buildings stood silently by as Sammy and Nicholas advanced warily down the road. The sound of their footsteps seemed louder than usual in dull silence. Windows—the ones that were still intact—were shut tight, and the shop windows with shuttered. Nothing else moved or made any other noises. In fact, everything was quiet; too quiet….

"Sammy," Nicholas whispered urgently. "Where's everyone gone to? There are people living around here, aren't there?"

"I've noticed, too. Be on your guard. Something's not right—"

As on cue, a large shadow suddenly detached itself from behind the corner. Several more figures came sauntering out in the open, their heavy footsteps ringing against the concrete pavement. In seconds, Sammy and Nicholas found themselves surrounded by five burly teens whose intentions could not have been more apparent.

Though many people Nicholas had seen at the Thief's Bounty looked dangerous, the boys he faced now simply exuded menace and savagery. Two of them wore their hair in greasy Mohawks, while the rest were closely shaven to the scalp. All were dressed in various assortments of shabby clothes, but they all commonly sported green armbands with flaming skull emblems placed over two crossed scythes.

The expression on their faces was that of a little boy who had just opened up his birthday present.

"The Reapers!" Sammy hissed in alarm.

"The one and only," one of the teens drawled lazily. "It's nice to know our name has spread so far and wide 'round here." His comment was met with a round of sniggers from his brutish friends.

"What are you frakkin' retards doing here?" Sammy shouted angrily. "In case you haven't noticed, this is not your turf!"

"Oh, but it is, little girl!" The teen sniggered. "What, you haven't heard? The Mavericks are no more! We thumped them good, yes, we did. In fact, you might even find some of them down in the sewers….or what's left of them, anyway!" With that, the Reapers broke into a loud insane laughter that sent chills down Nicholas's back.

"All right, look. Obviously, we've made a little mistake entering here without notice. If you won't mind, my friend and I will be leaving now."

Sammy turned, only to find her path blocked by another Reaper.

"What's the hurry, little girl? Don't you wanna stay here and play with us? I think we should play a little…._game_ we can enjoy."

"Yeah, but we would enjoy it more than you," another teen laughed stupidly, revealing his blackened teeth.

"You psychopaths make me sick," Sammy spat. "All of you freaks can just go to hell!"

Laughter cut out at once, and the Reapers' smiles crumpled into cold glares and snarls.

"The girl's got a dirty mouth," the boy intoned in a low and menacing voice. "I bet we can find a better use for it soon enough."

"Not before some thrashing," another joined in. "This is our turf, and that makes them trespassers. And we know what we do with trespassers…."

Each of the Reapers took a Pokeball from their sides. Nicholas noticed with alarm that each of the boys had not one or two, but three pokeballs in his possession. Even if he and Sammy pulled their teams together, they were grossly outnumbered.

"Don't think we're afraid of you," Sammy growled defiantly, although Nick saw drops of sweat breaking out her forehead. "And don't think you can get away with this, either. My friends are looking all over for me, and they'll know if I'm in trouble."

"I don't see them here," laughed the Reaper. "By the time your precious pals get here, there won't be anything left for them to save…. And there's nothing you and your pale shrimp of a friend can do about it!"

"Oh, really?"

The Reapers whirled around to see two teenagers casually sauntering up the street. The older of the two was a tall, wiry girl with olive skin, hazel eyes and long mud-brown hair. She wore a dark purple sleeveless vest without a shirt underneath, grey and lavender striped tie, grey shorts, and a black belt with a silver buckle slung across her hips. Though the girl was not wearing any shoes for some reason, she looked quite comfortable walking barefoot.

Her companion was a younger boy looking to be around Nicholas's age, with brown hair that extended past his ears and blue eyes with some gold tint in them. He was wearing a grimy gray shirt, a black leather vest, black skinny jeans, a worn pair of sneakers, and a pair of fingerless gloves.

Sammy let out a loud sigh of relief as her face lit up.

"Magda! Chase! Oh, boy, am I glad to see you guys!"

"You should be. You've been gone for an entire week!" said Chase—the younger boy—with a smirk. "We were beginning to think you ditched us and left town~"

"I kept telling him there was no way you would do something like that," Magda sighed. "Then we just figured you got into trouble like you always do. And now, I see you've managed to find one yet again. Oh, _bravo_."

"How about a little less sarcasm and more help?" Sammy shot a peeved glance. "We can do the bashing later at home, 'kay?"

"Sure. Now to business, then….," Chase turned to face the glowering Reapers.

"All right, numbnuts," he called out in an unbelievably bored manner. "I know you've been enjoying yourselves, but it's time for us to heading back. So why don't you just haul your asses back home and do something useful for a change, like learning to read?"

"I'm going to crush you, kid!" a Reaper roared angrily. "In case you haven't noticed, there are five of us, and only four of you!"

"Yeah, yeah, so glad you know how to count. But seriously?" Magda cocked her head in amusement. "You five Grunts against two Lieutenants of the Silver Wings? I suggest you think this through before you do something incredibly stupid."

The Reapers suddenly looked rather uncomfortable, to Nicholas's surprise. Their leader, however, remained defiant.

"We're not backing down! We may be Grunts, but we're not cowards!" the teen growled, though his hands were starting to shake visibly.

Chase merely grinned. "Suit yourself. We'd love to give you guys a fight, really, but….this is neither the time nor place for it, so I'll just make this really simple. Kibo, hypnosis, if you please—"

A shadowy form swiftly rose from the ground behind the teenagers. Reapers turned, only to find a Haunter emitting purplish rings of energy towards them. In a flash, all but one of the Reapers hit the ground, fast asleep. Their leader snarled and raised his pokeball, only to be seized by the neck and lifted off the ground by an angry looking Nidoking.

"I suggest you choose your next move _very carefully_," Magda drawled. "My friend here doesn't like sudden movements, and believe me, you don't want to get on his bad side."

The Reaper blanched, and quickly replaced his pokeball back to his side. With a nod from Magda, the Nidoking deposited the teen roughly down to the ground.

"Now, run back to your boss, and tell him….the Silver Wings won't take kindly to attacks on any of its members. If there are, there will be consequences, understand?"

The Reaper quickly scrambled to his feet and bolted, leaving his compatriots still crumpled on the ground. Magda and Chase both burst into a loud laughter.

"Whew~ Thanks, guys! Hate to imagine what would've happened if you didn't show up," Sammy said brightly, running up to give her friends a tight hug.

"Yeah, we know we're awesome," Chase smiled back. "In the future, just make sure to take the Winchester Boulevard instead when coming back from the upper levels. And don't go by the Redwall Court, neither."

"It's true then, what those morons said?" Sammy's face darkened. "The Reapers have really taken over this place."

"Oh, you have no idea," Magda sighed. "For the past few weeks, the Reapers have become aggressive for some reason. They've taken over not only here and Redwall Court, but the 47th and the Broadview Street as well."

"The Mavericks, the Dusk Raiders, the Rocket Boys, and the Black Roses," Chase added, shaking his head. "That's four gangs wiped out in two weeks. There's something strange going on here. The Reapers shouldn't have this much manpower or resources to expand this quickly."

"What happened to those defeated gangs?" Sammy asked with wide eyes.

"Oh, the Reapers absorbed most of them," Magda replied. "Others fled the area, and a few of them actually shacked up with us. They're really shaken up though. Apparently, the Reapers hadn't been too gentle with them during the takeover."

"Of course, now Ibrahim's all tense, now that those bullies are encroaching on our territory. He's making us travel in squads, and increasing the patrols around the neighborhood. Still, we just can't afford a full-scale gang war at the moment, not with our funds on the low," Chase wringed his hands. "It's a pity. My team sure can use a little workout."

"Anyways, just be careful not to wander around too much from now on," Magda muttered. Her gaze now turned to rest on Nicholas. "Now then….who's your friend?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Sammy laughed merrily. "Magda, Chase, I'd like you to meet my new buddy, Nick! Nick, this here is Magdalene Hernandez—"

"Call me by my full name and I'll ground you into paste," Magda murmured as she continued to eye Nicholas suspiciously.

"And this is Chase! Both are very good friends of mine, and among the best trainers I've ever met!"

"You flatter me, Sammy," Chase grinned wryly as he too studied Nicholas, though in a friendlier manner than Magda. "Say, how did you guys meet?"

"Well, I was actually locked up in jail—" Sammy started.

"Heh, you were in jail? I guess that explains the delay," Chase shrugged.

"And then out of the blue, Nick comes barging into my cell block after dodging those stupid police officers and sprang me out! Just like any good little boy should~"

"I told you, not to call me a 'little boy'!" Nicholas pleaded exasperatedly.

"Hey, at least you have it easy. She used to call me 'squirt' when we first met," Chase muttered.

"Anyways, it turns out Nick's on the run from the police, and needed a place to hide out. I, being an honorable lady, naturally invited him to tag along down here."

"If he's looking for comfort, that was a terrible idea," Magda said "Where's he from?"

"Huh? Ah, well….um….that's a very good question," Sammy turned to Nicholas, looking embarrassed. "Where are you from, Nick?"

"Um, I—I'm from—," Nick fumbled, painfully aware that the two teenagers were following his every move.

"Wherever he's from, he's definitely not from around here for sure. Otherwise, he would've been dead a while ago," Chase said slowly as he circled Nicholas and looking him over. "Look at the bones on him! I've seen more muscles on a pidgey."

"Kinda looks cute….only if there was more meat on him," Magda chortled. "What, there's not enough food for you up there?"

"I have some kind of….condition, ever since I was little," Nicholas said hesitantly. "I can't move around too much. The doctor said it was bad for my heart."

"Oh, _condition, shmudition_," Chase snorted. "You'll want to be fast if you want to stay alive down here. You'll see."

"Guys~!" Sammy interrupted. "Can't you see you're flustering him? He looks tired already! Why can't we do this later someplace else?"

"Sure, it's dangerous to stay in this area too long anyway," Chase nodded. "We should head back to the den for the proper debriefing. Still, I've gotta warn you, Sammy, Ibrahim won't be too happy that you let a complete stranger we know nothing about tag along. There will be questions…."

"Nick's not a stranger! We escaped from jail together and fought the police, and if that doesn't break the ice between us, I don't know what will," Sammy replied indignantly. Magda just shrugged.

"Right….at any rate, we can't afford to be so trusting, especially not nowadays," she turned towards Nicholas. "Nick, or whatever your name was. I'm afraid we'll have to search you."

Nicholas raised his eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"There's nothing to it. It's just a protocol, in case you might have anything dangerous or illegal that could get us in trouble as well," Chase extended his hand out. "I'll need to take your backpack. And kindly place your hands on top of your head for a full body search."

Nicholas acquiesced reluctantly, feeling very uncomfortable while Chase rummaged through his backpack and Magda gave him a thorough pat-down—taking a suspiciously long time to do so.

"Hmm, some cash, food, flashlight, first aid kit….you haven't given much thought into packing, have you? You are sadly underequipped to go on any sort of extended run," Chase muttered.

Magda suddenly stooped towards Nicholas's waist looking surprised.

"Hello, what do we have here?"

Before Nicholas could do anything, she snatched his Pokeball off his belt and held in up in the light.

"Hey, give that back!" Nicholas cried indignantly.

"Relax, I'm just looking," Magda released the pokeball and whistled softly when the white light materialized into Sneasel. The black weasel pokemon looked around in confusion and began to bristle and growl at the sight of strangers.

"A Sneasel? Not something you see just walking around here. A little rare for a boy like you, isn't it?"

"It was given to me," Nicholas said defensively. "As a birthday gift."

"Birthday gift or not, what kind of a teenage runaway carries his pokemon in an expensive customized pokeball?" Magda rolled the minimized pokeball between her fingers, brushing her thumb over the silver inlay. "Quite a fancy design you have here. Is this real silver?"

Nicholas remained silent, unwilling to further complicate the situation any further.

"I'm sorry, but we'll have to hold onto your pokeball and backpack for a bit, until you can tell us your full story." Magda said as she pocketed Nicholas's pokeball. "Your Sneasel will have to stay out for a little while."

"Well, whatever the case, I'm sure we'll find out the truth soon enough. Ibrahim has a knack for making people spill the beans. Come along then….we'll go see him right now." Chase then nudged his head towards the wary-looking Sneasel. "And tell your little buddy to stand down and fall into line. We'd hate to have our team pound it into submission."

Sneasel snarled at the comment, but backed down sullenly at a look from Nicholas. Sullenly, it swiftly clambered up his arm and sat on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry if the guys made you feel uncomfortable with all the search and questions," whispered Sammy as they started down the road. "But trust me, they don't like the interrogation as much as I. It's just the protocol, you know. "

"It's fine. I'm cool with it," Nicholas muttered back, even as his uneasiness grew. Would he be forced to tell the whole truth? If then, what will they do to him? And if they ever discovered he was a fugitive wanted by a rich nobleman….

Nicholas closed his eyes and desperately prayed that the undercity gangs did not have the concept of reward money.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes or so passed before Nicholas noticed some changes in the neighborhood around him. The street he was in was still grubby but showed some signs of being taken care of, and many people went on about their usual businesses in small shops or taverns.<p>

"This is our turf, Nick. See how nice it is?" Sammy said cheerfully as she popped in another piece of gum into her mouth.

"The Reapers usually live on extortions and outright pillaging, so most of the businesses on their turf go bankrupt quickly," Chase added. "But here, we just let the people do their things. The more money they make, the more protection money we get in return."

"The tour can wait later, folks," Magda said. "First we settle our business at the headquarters."

The "headquarters" turned out to be nothing but an old concrete and brick building standing up the street. It appeared to have been a small motel of a sort at one point, though the sign had long been worn away. Still, Nicholas could see how the spaciousness of the place would serve well as a meeting hall for a gang. The four teenagers pushed aside the murky glass doors and entered.

The interior was no fancier than the outside, though there was some atmosphere of coziness and security. Old couches, a large coffee table, an old video game set, and a battered TV sat in the lobby, and through the side door, Nicholas saw a long wooden table large enough to seat two dozen people or more. His attention was broken as several teenagers appeared in sight, some coming down the stairs, others from nearby doors, all alerted by their entry. Happy hubbub broke out as the Silver Wings recognized their compatriots.

"Chase! Magda! You guys brought Sammy back!"

"Welcome back, Sammy! Did you take a lot of good pictures?"

"What took you so long? What happened?"

"You won't believe what happened while you were away—"

"Who's that with you? Is he a new member?"

Magda raised her hand, and the chatter died away instantly.

"All will be explained soon," She said calmly. "Call everybody down for a general meeting, at the usual place. Where's Ibrahim?"

"He's out back at the courtyard, reviewing the orders from the Sharma Guild," a voice piped up.

"Can somebody run ahead and tell him we're here? Thanks."

Nicholas was quickly herded into the hallway ahead, flanked by Sammy, Magda, and Chase. They were closely followed by a dozen other gang members, with more joining during their progress. In no time, he found himself at the courtyard, a dimly lit concrete lot with chain link fences, several benches, and two basketball hoops at each end. Several boys were shooting hoops, but stopped as they soon as they noticed the arrival.

A teenager ran up to Magda from the other end of the courtyard.

"He says he'll be out in five minutes."

"Tell everyone to take their seats."

The crowd dispersed and spread out on the benches forming a wide ring around Magda, Chase, Sammy, and Nicholas. After several more arrivals from the building, Nicholas found himself surrounded by about thirty or so gang members all chattering softly, their gazes fixed on them.

"You look nervous," Sammy leaned over and whispered.

"You _think_?"

"Don't be," she gave a reassuring grin. "Ibrahim can be cold sometimes, but he's really caring and understanding. Anyways, if anyone should be nervous, it should be me. I messed up a big assignment, after all."

Nicholas was about to reply when a door at the end of the courtyard swung open. The teenagers fell silent at once as a single individual made his entry. There was no doubt that this was Ibrahim he had heard about.

Nicholas could see at once why Ibrahim was the leader. Ibrahim was a young man seemingly in his mid twenties, with short dark curly hair, piercing dark brown eyes, and light brown skin. His firm jaw was covered with short stubbles. Though he was not too tall, he was lean and tightly built, carrying himself with confidence. His appearance was modest, wearing an old leather jacket, black shirt, gray cargo pants, and sturdy boots. Still, there was something about him that commanded people and stole their attention. A brutally honest but fair man, Nicholas thought, like the ones found in the military.

Ibrahim stopped at an arm's length from them, his thumbs in his pants pocket as he looked over the four teenagers before him. His sharp gaze settled on Nicholas, who could not help but flinch a little. His eyes lingered on him a bit longer, but suddenly shifted away to Sammy.

"You're late."

His voice was low, but firm and deep. Sammy gave him a sheepish smile.

"I'm really sorry, Ibs! I had the photos and all, but they caught me and threw me in jail! I was there for two days…."

"Then I take it that they took your films as well?"

Sammy nodded nervously, and Ibrahim sighed.

"Sammy, you may be one of our top earners, but that doesn't give you the right to be so careless," he slowly started. "Those films cost money, and someone needs to pay for them. Yunis has already chewed me out for being late on the last month's payments. We can't risk running up a deficit, especially not now."

"I know, Ibs, I'm really sorry~" Sammy made a typical puppy face. "Forgive me?"

"You already know I would," Ibrahim gave a small crooked smile. "But this time, we can't go over this so easily. The costs for those films will have to come out from your personal emergency funds."

Sammy groaned. "Ah, geez. Can't you just let me off the hook this once?"

"Would you prefer if I took it out from your candy money?"

Sammy gasped loudly as the teenagers around them laughed.

"No, please! You can do whatever you want. Just….please don't touch my candy money~"

"Alright. But seriously, I'm happy to see you back safe and sound."

Shooting Sammy another small grin, Ibrahim abruptly turned to face Nicholas, his expression hard.

"Who's this?" he asked softly, nudging his chin towards him.

"Oh, this is Nick, my new friend!" Sammy replied brightly.

"You know that's not what I asked."

"Sammy brought him," Chase spoke up. "Apparently, he's the one who broke her out of jail. Turns out he's wanted by the police, so she offered him to bring him along."

A low murmur broke from the watching teenagers, who suddenly seemed to be more interested.

"You invited a stranger down here, to our headquarters, just because you owed him?" Ibrahim snapped at Sammy, looking irritated. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"But, I—well….," Sammy looked flustered and embarrassed.

"You said he was wanted by the police! We could get in trouble for harboring a fugitive! And what made you think we had enough to feed another hungry mouth?"

Ibrahim paused momentarily seemingly to recollect himself. The tension was high in the courtyard, to Nicholas's great discomfort.

"So then, where's he from? What does he do?"

"I-I don't know—" Sammy muttered quietly.

"You don't know? You don't _KNOW_?" Ibrahim threw his hands in resignation. "Why am I not surprised….?"

"It's our fault, too, Ibrahim," Magda spoke. "We happened to be in the Reaper turf, and didn't have the time to do a proper interrogation. Thought we bring him here, and let you do it yourself…."

"Did you at least search him?"

"We did. I have his backpack right here," Chase said. "Not much in it, just flashlight, little money, food, first aid kit…."

"He was also carrying this," Magda tossed Nicholas's pokeball, which Ibrahim caught easily. "See that silver crest there, the eight-pointed star? I don't think this was easy to come by, nor cheap."

Ibrahim stood there, looking down at the pokeball and studying it intently.

"Well, then, go ahead and start the interrogation. Ask him the questions," he spoke, his eyes still on the object.

"Right you are, boss," Chase then turned towards Nicholas. "Well, Nick. You'll need to answer some questions. See, we tend to be very wary of strangers, especially ones not from the undercity."

"What about Sammy? She's not from here either," Nicholas asked.

"Yes, but she had proved her worth since then. Besides, she's not from Shadowgrave and so is uninvolved in the dirty business here. Anyways, this is not about her, it's about _you,_" Magda replied smoothly. "So then, which level are you from? And why are you wanted by the police?"

Nicholas's heart began to race as all eyes turned to him. He could not risk telling the truth, otherwise all could be lost…. He had learned too much already about the importance of discretion earlier at the police station.

"The second level," Nicholas replied keeping his voice as level as possible. "My father was an alcoholic and abusive, so I ran away from home." He silently prayed for forgiveness for distorting the memory of his late father so.

"I didn't have time to pack much, so I needed more money. I tried to break into a fancy car, to take something from it. Apparently, it must've belonged to someone important, because the next thing I know, the police were all over me. They took me to jail, but I managed to get my pokeball out and evaded them. Then I met Sammy here, and…..I guess Sammy can tell you the rest."

"Where did you get your Sneasel sitting on your shoulder?" a voice interjected somewhere from the crowd. The weasel stirred at the mention of its name, looking a bit agitated.

"Answer it, the interrogation procedure is a communal business," Chase said.

"My grandmother sent it to me. She lives far away from here, in Johto."

"I thought you said earlier that it was a birthday gift," Magda interrupted.

"Yes….that's what I meant. She sent it to me as a birthday gift. Grandmothers are allowed to send gifts, right?"

A wave of faint laughter broke from the crowd.

"So why did she send your pokemon in a fancy customized pokeball? That thing looked quite expensive. Why give that to a teenager and not something cheaper?"

"Her letter said it was a family heirloom. And I don't know why she decided to give it to me. Perhaps she thought it would be a nice gesture…."

"You have answer for everything, don't you?" Chase grinned. "Either you are being quite honest….or you just have a knack for storytelling."

"So let me get this straight," Magda interjected. "You're a middle-class teenage runaway who happened to inherit an expensive heirloom worth a small fortune, who had bungled a car robbery and yet managed to elude several policemen and break one of us from jail?"

Nicholas nodded dumbly.

"Well, I don't like it," Magda scoffed. "There are way too many gaps in your little tale, for one thing. Second, there's something about you that's a bit….odd. You look too well-groomed and tailored, even for an upper-dweller."

"I'm telling the truth," Nicholas blushed. "If you want, I can repeat the story all over for you—"

"I recognize this mark."

Silence fell as all eyes turned. Ibrahim was coolly thumbing the eight-pointed star sigil, with a peculiar glint in his eyes.

"You do?" Chase asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Ibrahim spoke slowly. "From that social agency the rich guy set up….You're not from the second level." His eyes shot up towards Nicholas, giving him a cold, hard stare.

"You're from the spires."

Shocked gasps and chatters poured from the spectators, occasionally mixed with angry buzzes. Nicholas's heart sank as he felt the hostility skyrocket all around. Magda and Chase were looking at him with raised eyebrows and scowls; even Sammy was staring at him with wide eyes.

A well-built teenager with short spiked red hair wearing a gray wife-beater and baggy pants stood up from one of the benches.

"What are we waiting for?" he growled angrily. "That shrimp's obviously a spy sent by the nobles! I say we snuff him and be done with it!"

The teenager's words were immediately taken up by several others with great vehemence.

"Silence!" Ibrahim roared. "We may be a gang, but there WILL be order as long as I'm here. I won't have all of you resort to mindless violence like the damned Reapers!"

The racket died away as quickly as it came. The red-headed teenager sat down, looking sullen and angry.

"Now then," the young man turned his attention back to Nicholas. "_Nick, _if that is really your real name….I'm going to give you one more chance to tell the truth about who you really are. And I suggest you be honest this time, otherwise you'll find out the hard way that I have no patience for lies."

Nicholas swallowed hard and tried desperately to slow down his heartbeat. The situation had made a turn for the worse; his attempt at deception had backfired and earned nothing but mistrust and enmity from the gangers. But Ibrahim did mention that the gang was low on funds….and here he was, a walking fugitive whose capture would worth a fortune. Between a rock and a hard place, as Wilbur would say; caught between two dangers—

"I'm going to guess….that you were a servant of a sort."

Ibrahim's firm voice shook Nicholas from his mental deadlock. He stared at the gang leader with surprise. Was it just him, or was Ibrahim offering a way out, of a sort? Nicholas found himself nodding hastily in agreement.

"I thought so," Ibrahim nodded. "No ordinary spire-noble would dare come down here alone. Comforts and safety are strong motivations for remaining there, no matter how desperate. And the Sneasel?"

"I stole it," Nicholas muttered. "My master's son was abusing it, and I just couldn't stand by to watch. I took the pokeball at night, and fled the spire. I guess that's why the police are after me."

"Besides, the treatment I received from that place was beginning to go downhill anyways," he quickly added. "I hated it there."

Everyone stared at him in silence until Ibrahim cracked a slight smirk.

"Well then. Was that so hard? I do understand your reason for deception, but down here, lying is never a good way to ingratiate oneself to a gang."

"He's obviously lying again," the red-haired teenager spoke loudly. "You can't trust those spire-dwellers, no matter who they used to be."

"And I say he's not lying," Ibrahim replied. "I've met plenty of liars, and this….Nick here is not one of them. At any rate, I could tell even without the pokeball he was not from the second level. He's just that bad at it."

Several teenagers chuckled, though the redhead did not look happy at all.

"But—"

"Are you perhaps implying that I'm wrong, Garret?"

"No, I…..of course not," the boy—Garret—muttered. "I apologize."

"Besides, if he were really a spy, why would he be carrying such a fancy pokeball that could compromise him?"

Many gangers responded with approving nods and muttered words of assent. Nicholas felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of him. He saw expressions softening among the teenagers; Sammy smiled and gave a thumb up.

"So then, Nick. We normally avoid associating ourselves with wanted fugitives. Attracting the attention of the police is bad for our business. Still, stealing from a spire noble takes guts," Ibrahim said. "We can respect that."

"However," he continued in a sterner voice. "If you were expecting to find hospitality down here, I'm afraid we would have to deny you. As you might have noticed during your trip here, everything is in short supply in the undercity. Even the gangers must work hard to secure what you might otherwise take for granted up there. Everyone contributes; no one quits. There's no such thing as a free meal, even for guests."

"I ask you this, then: why should we let you stay here and share our food? What can you do for us in return?"

Nicholas stood there flustered, trying desperately to make a mental list of his skill sets. Years spent reading suddenly seemed wasted and unproductive.

"Well, I-I can read—"

"Impressive, but we already have people for that," Ibrahim pressed. "What else?"

"I'm also good with numbers."

"Already covered."

"What's next, breathing air and moving limbs?" Chase joked. "You're listing off very basic things here, buddy. Do you have any _special_ skills, like fixing machines or driving a vehicle?"

Nicholas mentally chided himself for the sheltered life he had led so far. In the spires, servants had been responsible for all the hard chores, while he had been content to isolate himself in relative comfort. Not that it was his fault, for his doctors made sure Nicholas avoided any sort of physical labor. Still, perhaps he could've….at least read up on some various skills.

"He said he was a servant," Magda interrupted. "I guess he could do household chores around here."

Ibrahim slowly nodded with approval. "I suppose. This whole place hasn't been cleaned in a long while. Besides, the neighborhood rank-and-file wouldn't do a proper job with the brooms."

"What if I learned whatever you do?" Nicholas asked. "You know, the gangers' trade?"

"You? Try our trade?" Ibrahim grinned wryly. "Do you even know what we do?"

"No, but based on my impression so far, it involves doing a lot of different tasks—."

"Tasks which all involve special skills, and LOTS of running," Magda finished. "Sorry, hon, but you don't look nearly fit enough for all that, much less to do plenty of mopping and sweeping."

"Appearances may be deceiving, Magda," Ibrahim said. "Who knows. You might perhaps have what it takes to be successful in our business, Nick….but we can't let you in that easily. Not without you proving yourself beforehand."

"But meanwhile, I suppose we could consider letting you stay here for a while, provided you do your job right. If you cause more trouble than you're worth, then it's off to the streets for you. I guess that should serve as a motivation."

Looking over the gathered teenagers, Ibrahim cleared his throat.

"Okay, then. Let's put it to a vote. All in favor of letting Nick stay—"

A little more than half of the gathered crowd raised their hands, including Sammy, Chase, and Magda. Garret and his friends, however, remained as they were.

"Appears we have a majority," Chase said cheerfully.

"All right," Ibrahim slowly nodded. "You can stay then. Chase, Magda, bring the boy to my office. The meeting is dismissed."

The teenagers began to disperse, noisy chatters breaking out at once. A few smiled encouragingly at Nicholas, but most simply did not spare him a glance. Heavy footsteps caught his attention, and Nicholas turned to find Garret glaring down at him.

"I'll be watching you, spire rat," he whispered menacingly. "Don't think your stay here will be comfortable….or long."

"That's enough for now, Garret," Magda firmly interrupted. "Off to your quarters."

Without further word, Garret sauntered off to join his friends lounging in the corner.

"You'll have to excuse Garret," Chase muttered. "He has…..an unfortunate history with the spire-dwellers. It won't matter to him that you used to be a servant, not a nobleman."

"If I were you, I would keep my distance from him," Magda said as she directed Nicholas to the far side of the courtyard. As the glass door shut behind him, Nicholas took one last backward glance. Garret was still standing there, staring at him with cold, unmoving eyes.

* * *

><p>The "office," turned out to be nothing but a small room in the second floor, furnished only with an old desk, a metal cabinet, and a couple of creaky fold-out chairs. A single light bulb hanging from the ceiling provided a poor illumination. Ibrahim sat behind the desk, while Nick was seated on the other side with Magda and Chase flanking him. Sneasel was draped over Nicholas's shoulder fast asleep, snoring softly.<p>

Ibrahim rummaged through the drawers and pulled out two folders, each containing a stack of documents.

"Chase, Magda, take these to the usual place, and tell the guys to have the figures done by tomorrow. I want to assess our budget properly before we take any more jobs."

"You want us to leave you alone with him?" Magda asked as she took the folders.

"Yeah," Ibrahim grinned slightly. "I don't think he'll do anything, would you Nick?"

Nicholas just shook his head. Chase nodded and promptly exited the room, followed by Magda who closed the door behind her.

"I would offer tea, but unfortunately we don't drink tea down here. Tea is an expensive and ostentatious drink for the nobles," Ibrahim said. "Coffee, on the other hand, we have. Feel free to have a cup each morning at the dining hall."

"I don't like tea," Nicholas replied. "I've always wondered what's so good about drinking a cup of brewed grass."

Softly chuckling, Ibrahim stood up and opened the nearby curtain, revealing a wide view of the neighborhood. Even from the distance, Nicholas could see plenty of movements down in the streets below.

"Consider this as your orientation," Ibrahim said, pointing out the window. "Normally, we give a comprehensive tour of the neighborhood to the new members recruited from the outside, but since you're not an official member, I'm just going to make this short. You'll learn the rest in time."

"Out there, occupying the total area of four blocks-by-three is a district called Palmyrian Heights, our turf. Most of the people here work at the recycling and sewage treatment plants one level below, while a few own small businesses. This is also where most of our members come from, and where we draw most of the fresh recruits if necessary. It is our job to protect the inhabitants from the usual violence of the undercity, and they pay us small protection fee in return. It's a fair deal that benefits both sides."

"That doesn't really sound like what a typical gang would do," Nicholas said. "More like a job for a….neighborhood watch."

"It's because we're not," Ibrahim replied. "Ganger is a term of convenience used by the police to categorize us. What we really are is something more complex: Gutter Runners."

"Gutter….Runners?"

"Basically, a Gutter Runner is someone who does all sorts of jobs imaginable to make his ends meet in the undercity. Smuggling, blackmailing, scavenging, stealing, spying, delivering, you name it. Certain specific requests would come in from time to time, and we perform them with no questions asked. Legal or illegal, nothing is too much for us as long as it pays. We have only two rules: no stealing from the poor, and no killing. Some gangs aren't as scrupulous, though…."

"When we're not on any of those jobs, we venture down into the abandoned levels below us to scavenge whatever we can find there. It's a dangerous task, with all the gang rivalries and the prowling ghost pokemon. But still, the payoff can be enormous sometimes, since there is no telling what you might find down there. I don't think anyone ever knows exactly how many levels are below us."

Ibrahim cleared his throat before continuing on.

"Here in the Silver Wings, everyone is expected to behave responsibly, including the guests. There will be certain rules to learn, but the most important one is this—treat others as you would like others to treat you. There are little more than thirty members in the gang at the present, divided by ranks and talents. Most of us live here in the headquarters, but some have families in the neighborhood. They all join for different reasons; some—like Sammy—are looking for adventures, others—like Chase—are orphans without a place to call home. There are those looking to earn extra money for their folks, and occasionally a couple escaping trouble above," Ibrahim gestured towards Nicholas, "Like you. We never received any spire folks before though, but mostly runaways from the fourth and the fifth levels."

"The gangs around here," Nicholas asked. "Do they also perform similar jobs as you?"

"More or less," Ibrahim replied promptly. "Though Undercity gangs tend to operate with different agendas, we all compete for assignments and resources day and night. There are dozens of gangs spread across three inhabited levels of the Undercity, so the rivalry is intense. The Reapers are not the only vicious gangers around here, so I suggest you be on your guard and avoid straying far from the turf. Now then, any questions?"

"I think I got it all down so far," Nicholas said.

"Good. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask around. And on the final note, as a part of the gang protocol, we'll be holding onto your possessions temporarily. However, I'm afraid we'll need to confiscate this," Ibrahim held up Nicholas's customized pokeball.

"You're not going to take Sneasel, are you?" Nicholas asked, alarmed. Sneasel mewled incoherently in its sleep.

"Relax, even we are not that cruel. Besides, it seems to have bonded well with you already. I'm just taking the pokeball. Consider it as….your entrance fee."

"You can use this instead," Ibrahim reached inside his jacket and took out an ordinary pokeball, looking a bit battered but serviceable. "Besides, it's going to be dangerous for you to be carrying something so expensive like this in the Undercity. People down here kill for less expensive things."

Nicholas took the pokeball and lightly tapped it at the sleeping Sneasel, who promptly disintegrated into a flash of white light and disappeared into the sphere.

"You can take Room 402 for the time being. Dinner is always served at six, and you'll start your job tomorrow morning. I suggest you use the remainder of the day to rest up. Is that clear?"

Nicholas nodded.

"Thank you again for letting me stay here."

"Don't thank me, thank the gang. If they haven't voted for you, I would've kicked you out without batting an eye."

Opening the drawer, Ibrahim took about a small ledger. "You may go now. I have things to do," he said without looking up.

Nicholas attached his new pokeball to his belt and started to head out.

"I know you're still holding something back."

Ibrhaim's firm voice checked Nicholas halfway out the door, prompting him to look back with wide eyes. Ibrahim met his gaze with his own.

"However, I'm not going pry….I could, but I won't. Truths don't tend to remain hidden for long in the undercity anyway, with or without me."

"Then, how do you know you can trust me?" Nicholas blurted out before he could stop himself. "How can tell if I don't have any ill designs? Not….that….I do have….any."

"Like I said, you're a terrible liar. I can tell from the way you move, speak, and how your facial expressions arrange themselves that you are telling the truth about not being a spy or an assassin. Besides, some aspects of your story were truthful, were they not? Like being forced to flee from the spire…."

"They were," Nicholas muttered solemnly, memories of Wilbur's stand flooding him.

"And that look you have in your eyes; it's not that of a person with a hidden motive, it belongs to one who had suffered a loss…. And I know better than to poke about before that wound heals over," Ibrahim shifted his gaze back to the ledger and waved his hand dismissively. "You can really go now. I won't stop you again."

Nicholas left the office wordlessly, torrent of thoughts rushing through his mind at once. He knew he wasn't out of the dangerous waters yet, and that his future at the moment appears bleak and uncertain. Still, beneath the all the nervousness and worries, there was a firm knowledge that he had found people he could depend upon, with whom he might perhaps regain the peace and stability taken away from him.

If he had known what was coming to him, however, Nicholas would've known better than to be so optimistic.

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R!<strong>


	5. Laugh or Scream

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon….**

**Laugh or Scream**

* * *

><p>Nicholas stared at the reddish, watery broth slowly dripping off his spoon. Whichever way he looked, he could not see how anyone could call this stuff "tomato" soup. Sure, the bowl of warm liquid lying before him smelled a bit like ketchup, but the similarity ended there. As far as he was concerned, he was about to drink salty water dyed red. The gangers didn't seem to mind though, instead gulping down their portion with gusto.<p>

It was early in the morning in the Undercity, around seven; or at least Nicholas was told it was so. The perpetual dusk that bathed the cityscape made it hard to differentiate the time. Nevertheless, he woke up without complaint and joined the Silver Wings in the dining hall for breakfast. Teenagers, some of them still in their pajamas, sat along the long wooden table, noisily chatting amidst the clattering of spoons, bowls, and plates. Past the tall jugs containing orange juice and milk, Nicholas could see Ibrahim and his Lieutenants sitting at the far end, talking in low voices. Behind them, many Pokémon were feasting on large bowls of feed set up on the floor, all jostling for a better spot. Nicholas' Sneasel was taking advantage of its lithe form to dart in and out of small gaps, sneaking generous portions for itself.

"Your Sneasel seems energetic," a friendly voice said next to Nicholas. "That's a good sign! It can be very difficult to keep your Pokémon healthy down here sometimes."

Nicholas looked up to see a girl around her age smiling down at him. She was a rather voluptuous redhead with her hair down to her back, which nicely complimented her tanned skin and big bluish-gold eyes framed by thick eyelashes. Her heart-shaped face was sprinkled lightly with freckles. The girl was wearing a blue jean skirt that reached her mid-thigh, a black bandana tied around her hips, black leggings, white tennis shoes, a yellow spaghetti strap tank-top that reached just above her bellybutton with a large flame design, and black fingerless gloves with the similar flame design. Sitting on her shoulder was a small Pikachu nibbling on a piece of tater tot.

"I'm Amber. Amber Zinohara," the girl said brightly. "You can call me Flame, or "the kitchen goddess," as I'm known to some people. You're Nick, right?"

"That's my name alright."

"I must say, you gave some of us quite an impression at the meeting last night, Nick," Amber smiled. "Not a lot of people can escape from the spire-nobles and commit a jailbreak while at it! And thanks for bringing back Sammy. Where is she anyways? She owes me twenty-five dollars and a packet of gum….."

Nicholas tried to keep his face straight as he spied Sammy surreptitiously ducking under the table out the corner of his eye.

"Well anyways, just for that, I'll give you something special! Here—"

Amber set down a plate in front of Nicholas, containing two sunny-side ups and a big strip of bacon, arranged to look like a smiling face.

"This is my Feel-Good Breakfast Special I make especially for my friends! Well, there's supposed to be some hash browns on top that's supposed to be the hair, but we couldn't get fresh potatoes this week, so….the little guy's all bald today~"

"I think it looks great," said Nicholas enthusiastically. Of course, the meal was a far cry from the fancy meals he used to have, but the eggs and bacon still looked tasty, not to mention looking far better than the tomato soup.

"Sorry if it's not the same as the food up there," Amber grinned. "It's been hard to get any fresh ingredients the past week. We usually supplement our government rations with whatever we can buy from upper levels, but the money's been rather low of late."

"Food is scarce down here then?" Nicholas asked as he chewed down a piece of egg, which proved to be as delicious as it looked. "I've expected as much but….what kind of provisions does the government send down to the undercity?"

"Well, they're not the best quality, I can tell you that much," Amber sighed. "Mostly leftover canned goods, some expired products, and whatever some charitable groups can afford at the time. After they're all divided up throughout the city, we end up with just enough to get by. Needless to say, people around here are always hungry."

"That doesn't sound fair at all! Can't anyone do something about it?"

"And what, end up losing what we already have? There was a protest about a couple years ago actually, for more rations and such. The next thing we know, the usual supply was cut by one-third and no one has ever complained ever since….The gangs fare a little better though, since we can use our earnings to buy more food. Some kids join gangs just to get three square meals a day."

Nicholas felt a sudden shame at being so picky with his food earlier. Eating well has been one of many things he has never given much thought to, something he has come to take for granted over the years. But what was he to be such a know-it-all food critic down in the Undercity, where every bite was a blessing in itself? Nicholas quickly picked up the spoon and began eating his portion of tomato soup.

"Can't believe I didn't even hear about this on the news…."

"You mean that ridiculous piece of crap?" Amber laughed. "Everyone knows that the nobles control all the media in Shadowgrave! All the TV stations and papers show only what they want the people to believe, that they are living in a paradise where the troubles of the Undercity are minimal or nonexistent. Scary to think most people up there believe that stuff…."

"Things aren't all that bad," she added quickly upon seeing Nicholas's face darken. "We do our best around here to distribute any spare food we have to the locals, as a PR campaign. Some people consider the gangs troublemakers, but most gangs I know try to keep their rep intact. That way, the locals are friendlier towards us and cooperate with us more often. For example, we hold an annual barbeque for the neighborhood, if we manage to get our hands on the right stuff. Yup, nothing like a grade-E beef patty between week-old buns all smothered in ketchup!"

"Will I be expected to eat that?"

"Just wash it down with a cup of Pepto and you'll be fine~"

Just then, a loud sound of spoon tapping on a cup caught their attention. Ibrahim had slowly stood up, directing all eyes to him.

"If everyone's finished, I'll get on with the daily business then," he called out loudly. "First off, the patrol shifts need to be doubled, which means squads Epsilon and Zeta will be on duty from ten to eleven and then from four to five in addition to the usual routine…."

There were a few groans, but otherwise no one challenged the decision.

"Two assignments for today….squads Alpha and Gamma, please report to the Lieutenants afterwards for a briefing. Because of the increased difficulty, Magda, Chase, and I will be accompanying squad Alpha. Aside from all that, the rest of you will be heading off to the lower levels for the usual business. The sale goes down on Saturday, so make sure we meet the scrap metal quota on time," Ibrahim continued on casually, as if he had done this many times before. "Any questions?"

The teenagers were already cleaning off their plates and utensils, and recalling their Pokémon to the balls.

"Good. Be off, and stay safe. And make sure to be back here at the usual time…..and the new guy?"

Nicholas looked up automatically.

"See me for a minute afterwards. I'll show you where the cleaning supplies are."

The crowd dispersed, dividing into groups while some ran off to change out of their pajamas. A few younger teenagers—their youth setting them apart from the seasoned gangers—ran into the dining room to collect all the empty plates.

"Well, I must be off! Looks like I'm in for a tough assignment today," Amber smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Nick. Good luck on your job! But I guess you've done this many times before though right? All the housework…."

"Huh? Oh, right. And good luck to you too, Amber," Nicholas said. "I might actually need that luck more than you might think…."

Watching Amber run up to her group, Nicholas suddenly heard a loud splat along with a clatter of a bowl. Turning, he saw Garret standing behind him, with an upturned bowl and tomato soup all spilled over the floor.

"Oops, clumsy me," Garret drawled unpleasantly. "Well, I guess you've got your work cut out for you, spire rat. And it would be best to make it clean….for your own sake."

Nicholas gaped in disbelief, protest rising to his throat as Garret sauntered away. Still, it was best to avoid any trouble for now, not while his stay among the Silver Wings proved tenuous at best. Squaring his shoulders, Nicholas marched himself towards Ibrahim. Perhaps his new "career" may distract him just enough….

* * *

><p>That very hope had not been vindicated even five days later.<p>

Nicholas yawned as he scrubbed the floor with a dirty mop as tall as himself. The stains on the corridor floor refused to fade away despite his best efforts. Though the rest of the corridor behind him looked quite clean, he knew there was still another floor upstairs left that needed to be swept, dusted and mopped. His job would be done then, if any of the gang members didn't point out some spots he might have missed. It didn't help that Garret and his posse did their best to make a hell of a mess before they left, which often involved sticking pieces of gum in the most inconvenient places.

It was already looking to be a long, hard day.

When Nicholas was still living in the spire, servants were always there to clean the mansion. He always thanked them, for sure, but now in their figurative shoes, Nicholas realized just how little he had appreciated the labor they did. Cleaning this entire place was a backbreaking chore, an eye-opening experience for him. Luckily, the gang did not fault much with his performance so far the past few days. Though the teenagers were meticulous about their personal hygiene, they had shown surprising apathy towards maintaining the building. As result, it fell to Nicholas to clean the hallways, organize the common rooms, take out the garbage, and in a couple occasions fix leaky pipes all around the headquarters. He also needed to chase out a number of stray wild Pokémon that had nested inside the headquarters—Rattatas, Spinaraks, and Zubats mostly—aided by his snarky Sneasel and a sturdy broomstick. Regardless, a few bite marks and scratches remained at the end of the day to serve as a mark of battle. On the upside, the past few days spent cleaning gave him time to get acquainted well with the layout of the building.

At first, Nicholas would usually finish the work by evening exhausted, which often went past dinnertime. Fortunately, some scraps of food were always available at the dining hall—courtesy of Amber or Sammy as he suspected. That had left him barely enough time to clean himself and relax before he drifted off to sleep, wake up the next morning and start the same routine again. The mess had become more manageable after first few days, however, and Nicholas was now able to make it to dinner on time with a bit of break time afterwards to boot. Since most of the gangers were just ignoring him, Nicholas instead spent time looking through Sammy's photo collections or asking questions about the Undercity to Amber, who turned out to be a talented storyteller. All the same, he would fall asleep many nights dreaming about the happier days in the spire, the memories of his father and Wilbur playing over and over in his head. It was both strange and difficult to be in charge of his own life without anyone being there to direct or advise him—as if a he was walking on a figurative tightrope without a safety net. Only his daily routine kept him together; at least physical labor took his mind off of things.

And then there was his Sneasel.

"You know, I've been thinking," Nicholas said aloud as he scrubbed a stubborn stain on the floor. "I haven't gotten around naming you yet. I mean, I just can't keep calling you Sneasel, right? It'll be like naming myself 'human'…."

Nicholas's Sneasel was sitting upright against the wall in the corner, contently grooming himself. Though he had tried to convince the black weasel Pokémon many times to give him a hand with the chores, all he got in return was a blank stare followed by an idle scratching on the ear. Except when hunting down wild Pokémon, Sneasel so far had simply stood by watching its trainer on the job. A typical Sneasel was a snarky Pokémon with an attitude and a fiery temper to boot, Nicholas remembered reading somewhere. Though he was grateful for its enthusiasm for combat, Nicholas sometimes wished he had been given a friendlier and more loyal Pokémon.

"Let's see….how do you like 'Scratchy'? I think that's a cute name," Nicholas ventured.

Sneasel shot a nasty glare, followed by an adamant shake of its head.

"No? How about Stella? Stella sounds sleek, just like you!"

Sneasel let out a low masculine growl that made the reason for its displeasure quite clear.

"Ah, I get it. You're a male! My mistake….hmm, something that sounds dark, dangerous, and stealthy…." Nicholas knit his eyebrows in concentration. "What about 'Shade'? Do you like that?"

Sneasel appeared to consider the name for a brief moment before slowly nodding in satisfaction.

"Or maybe not. Shade sounds a bit too dark," Nicholas scowled as he resumed scrubbing the floor. "Maybe I should just name you Wilbur…. Hey, you know what? I'm actually feeling quite good about 'Wilbur'!"

Deep in thought, Nicholas did not see his Sneasel march up to him, looking thoroughly pissed off.

THWACK!

* * *

><p>It took two more hours before Nicholas decided nothing was going to be cleaner than it was now. Recalling "Shade," to his Pokeball, he slowly walked downstairs to the lobby, idly wiping his hands on a piece of rag. In the past few days, Nicholas had learned that the Silver Wings retained a cadre of young teenagers from around Palmyrian Heights, ranging from eleven to fifteen years of age. Dubbed "rank-and-file," these motley youngsters all aspired to be inducted into the Silver Wings someday. As such, as many as a dozen of them hung around the headquarters by day while the gangers were out, taking care of odd chores. In reality, Nicholas noticed that most of the rank-and-files did very little other than loafing around the common room. A group of them was gathered around TV in the lounge now, playing a video game and chatting loudly amongst themselves. There was no reason to join them as far as he was concerned. They didn't seem exactly look like a friendly lot, and besides, what would he talk to them about? Nicholas just walked over to the small fridge on the other side of the lobby and poured himself a glass of water.<p>

The glass door swung open, and Nicholas turned around to see a small girl with dirty blonde hair cautiously scurry into the lobby. She looked no more than seven at most, and had her scrawny arms wrapped around a sleepy looking Zigzagoon.

"Oh, hello," Nicholas smiled, slightly bending down to meet the girl at the eye-level. "Can I help you with something?"

The little girl stared at him with wide green eyes, looking a little shy.

"Um, are you lost?" Nicholas ventured again, making sure to soften his voice a tad

"You weren't here before," the girl suddenly piped up.

"Yeah, I'm new here. Got here only a few days—"

"Will you play with me?"

The question, as simple as it was, caught Nicholas by surprise. "Eh?"

"Other kids won't play with me," the little girl muttered sadly. "Big brothers and sisters here do, but they're busy today. Will you play with me?"

Nicholas looked over at the rank-and–files gathered lazily around the television. None of them seemed to have noticed the little girl come in, and he doubted anyone would want to care.

"All right," Nicholas said brightly. "I'm done with my job anyways."

Taking off his rubber gloves, Nicholas followed the girl outside. Though tired, he was not about to deny a lonely little girl her request.

"Do you know how to play marbles?"

"Not really. But you can teach me."

Nicholas spent the next half an hour or so playing a game called "marbles," with the little girl, whose name he had learned was Lana. Admittedly, it was an odd sight, a teenage boy and a seven-year-old squatting at an old playground rolling small glass balls. Still, Nicholas found it quite pleasant, being an only child as well as never having had a chance to play with other children when he was little. Though shy at first, Lana turned out to be a delightful—if not somewhat moody—companion and a formidable marbles opponent. Perhaps, there was some peace in the Undercity after all, Nicholas thought as he lost his blue marble to Lana's masterful aim. It was horrible still, however, to think that such sweet children could grow up into the destitute lot like the one he saw at the Thief's Bounty…. As far as he knew, there weren't even any schools or amusement parks down in the Undercity.

"Where do you live?" Nicholas asked.

"Down the street," Lana replied, her one eye closed as she shifted herself around for a better angle. "We live in that apartment with the red bricks."

"By 'we,' do you mean you and your parents?"

"There's just me and daddy. But daddy's at work all day, so I have to wait until dinner," Lana's voice suddenly dropped to a listless, mournful tone. "Mommy's dead."

"Oh," Nicholas suddenly felt a pang of sympathy; he, too, knew too well how painful it could be to lose one's mother. In truth, Lana would have it harder than him; at least he had no memory of his own mother to elicit such a depressing response. "I'm sorry."

Lana did not respond, but instead flicked at her marble, masterfully hitting another and yet another with a rebound. Regretting having brought up an unpleasant conversation topic, Nicholas decided it was best to distract Lana from her sad memories. He knew all too well that the more one dwelled on unhappy thoughts, the stronger they would grow.

"It's getting rather late. I think there's some orange juice and cookies back at the headquarters. Let me just get you some snack before you head home. How's that sound?"

Lana nodded solemnly and began gathering up her marbles and putting them away in a little bag.

Nicholas grinned. No matter how destitute or depressed, kids were still kids.

* * *

><p>Nicholas sensed something had gone wrong even before the pair arrived back at the headquarters. There was a lingering, almost fleeting, sense of fear and unease in the air that triggered warning signals all over his system. Tightening his grip on Lana's hand, Nicholas approached the building cautiously. His fears were validated upon seeing the glass door sporting a huge crack and almost hanging off its hinges. Shock had long dispelled whatever concerns he had about the repair he needed to do.<p>

"Stay behind me, Lana," Nicholas whispered urgently. "Something's not right here."

Stepping past the door, Nicholas and Lana entered to find the lounge in shambles; furniture were overturned, cushions ripped, shards of glass lay scattered all over the floor….and a young rank-and-file, looking no more than eleven, hung from the ceiling with a video game controller cord tightly wrapped around his neck. Nicholas cried out in alarm, before remembering to shield Lana's eyes from the gruesome sight.

"It's all right," the girl whispered in a quiet, deadpan voice. "That's how mommy died, too. I came home, and she was there, just like that. Daddy drank four bottles that day and cried a lot."

Horrified, Nicholas looked around for any signs of life. The gangers would've gone out at this time of day, leaving only the rank-and-files to look after the headquarters. Fortunately, he couldn't see any more bodies lying about; whatever happened here they must've escaped, he thought.

Nicholas stepped into something wet and leapt back when he realized it was a sizeable pool of blood. A bloody trail led away from it, as though something heavy—perhaps a body—had been dragged away, going straight into the dining hall. Forcing back the shudder, Nicholas gingerly followed the trail with Lana in tow. The trail continued uninterrupted, forming smooth turns and curves around the dining hall and ended at the door leading into the kitchen.

Nicholas tried desperately to keep his thoughts together. Though a part of him desperately wanted to get away, he still felt obligated to assess the full extent of the carnage. After all, the Silver Wings had taken him in, regardless of the condition of his stay. As a guest, it was his responsibility, nay his duty, to safeguard their belongings. If some danger was afoot, he needed to investigate it no matter what. Though fear ate at him, he was determined to remain as a member of the Caverell family. His father would've done the same, as would Wilbur.

Taking a deep breath, Nicholas opened the door, only to behold the most gruesome spectacle that made his blood run cold.

There, in the middle of the kitchen floor, a tall, thin, young man was sitting with his back to the door, hunched over and noisily _feasting _on a corpse of a young rank-and-file. His ravenous feeding had sprayed blood and gore all over the kitchen, making it look more like a slaughterhouse. What appeared to be a crude, rusty scythe was propped against the kitchen counter. As Nicholas stood frozen to spot, overwhelmed by the scene, the young man suddenly stopped chewing, rose to his feet, and turned around without a single sound.

What Nicholas beheld could've easily come from the worst nightmare.

Clothing-wise, the young man was shabbily dressed, with black trainers, black tracksuit trousers, dark grey t-shirt, a long hooded black cloak, and a pair of black gloves. But his messy black hair, pale skin, unnaturally large red eyes, and a wide smile that stretched way too far back certainly spoke volumes. His hands, mouth, and teeth were covered with blood and bits of flesh….while an armband circled his right arm, emblazoned with a Reaper emblem.

"Hi!" the young man said in a cheerful, childlike voice. "Will you play with me?"

"Run, Lana!" Nicholas shouted in panic. "RUN!"

Without looking back, the pair ran as fast as they could back to the lobby. Nicholas's mind was in utter chaos, a cocktail of fear mixed with panic and adrenaline. The Reaper would certainly kill both of them as easily as he had dispatched the rank-and-file. Looking down at Lana, Nicholas saw her usually deadpan face now looking fearful and on the verge of crying. Something sparked in him that momentarily expelled his own fear and panic. He couldn't let the man get to her. If only he could buy some time….

Nicholas quickly helped Lana past the glass door, but locked securely it behind her, effectively sealing him inside. Lana stared back at him with questioning eyes, mouth open in surprise.

"Listen to me!" Nicholas shouted. "Get as far as you can away from here! Get help!"

Lana stood there unmoving, still staring behind the glass door.

"Just go!"

Lana scurried out of sight, arms clutched tightly around her Zigzagoon. Nicholas felt an odd bit of pride despite the knowledge of his predicament. He had just sealed himself inside with a psychopathic, cannibalistic murderer who would, without a blink of an eye, tear him to pieces. Still, despite all the adversities, a nobleman could not dishonor his family name. All notion of noblesse oblige may have all but disappeared of late, but he was not about to let his own go either. Though Nicholas knew he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight, the young man, whoever he was, would be kept busy tracking him down for a while.

Rustling footsteps, followed by something heavy dragging on the floor, came from the dining room. Quickly, Nicholas hid himself behind the television, watching the door intently. After a moment of dull silence, the young man swiftly darted into the room, one of his hands tightly clutching the scythe. He appears to have washed off the blood on his hands and around his mouth, but that did very little to improve his image. The terrifying smile remained fixed in place, only his eyes moving around and scanning the lounge. The young man sniffed, and let out a little snigger.

"Come out, little fly…." He rasped maliciously. "No use hiding, is there? I could smell you from miles…."

The young man moved lightly on his feet almost like a skilled ballerina, his lithe form moving from furniture from furniture inspecting potential hiding places. With deft strokes of his scythe, he tossed cushions and debris aside with practiced ease.

"Pretty little fly~ trapped in a spider's web~ all tangled and nowhere to go~ waits kindly for his host!" he sang in a high pitched voice that jarred the ear. From close-up, the young man's voice was curiously accented, malice and hunger dripping from every syllable that did little to hide his intent.

Even in his hiding place, Nicholas could not stop his body from shaking; despite his resolve, the fear and panic pressing against his limited psyche were simply too great to handle. Shutting his eyes tight, Nicholas did his best to calm his breath. Perhaps someone might come along. The Silver Wings may have decided to return a bit early—

Nicholas suddenly realized he could no longer hear anything moving. Cautiously, he peeked through the gap to find the lounge empty. Where was he? Perhaps he was gone, having decided that his prey was somewhere else in the building…. Nicholas craned his neck out a little further, trying to get a better view—

"Peek-a-boo~! I see you~"

Nicholas jerked up in surprise. Crouching on top of the TV and looking down at him was the young man, smiling with glee. Crying out in fear, Nicholas bolted from his hiding spot, but the young man was much faster. In a flash, he pounced on Nicholas and brought him down pinned to the floor.

"What's the rush, little fly? Wouldn't you rather stay here and play with me?" the young man giggled. Nicholas struggled frantically, though there was little he could do with his meager strength.

Nicholas's Pokeball burst open at his side, and his heart leapt as he saw Shade lunge towards the young man, snarling savagely. Even before he reached the assailant, however, a shadowy form blindsided the black weasel and sent him flying to the corner. A small, purple humanoid Pokémon with sharp claws and diamond-like eyes landed smoothly on the floor, positioning itself between its trainer and Shade.

"Nice of you to join us, Sableye….now go, and earn your meat!"

Shade recovered himself from the strike and lunged at the Sableye with vengeance, dishing out forceful blows with his claws. The purple Pokémon merely fell back gracefully and evaded the Sneasel's rash attacks with ease.

"Icy Wind, Shade!" Nicholas cried from his position.

"Faint attack," the young man replied smoothly.

With a huff, the black weasel blew out a freezing jet of ice from his mouth. Even before it reached it, however, the Sableye flickered out of existence, reappeared behind Shade, and landed a wicked hit with its sharp claws. Once more, the Sneasel was sent tumbling across the floor, crying out in pain.

"Shade!"

Nicholas could only watch helplessly, as his Pokémon struggled to rise to his feet, only to be slammed by a Shadow Ball that put him out of fight for good. The Sableye sauntered up to the unconscious Sneasel, grabbed and lifted him by his throat.

"That was really fun!" the young man giggled as he giddily clapped his hands. "See how much fun we're having! Don't you regret running away from me earlier, eh?"

Nicholas struggled with all his strength, but the young man doubled the pressure he was exerting. With little effort, he flipped Nicholas onto his back while still keeping him pinned with his right knee. That frightful visage loomed closer to Nicholas's face, giving off pungent smell of dried blood and sweat.

"Well then, let me look at you….," the young man drawled. "Now that we've managed to settle down, how about we introduce ourselves? What's your name, little boy?"

Despite the playful tone, Nicholas could sense menace and danger under those words that did not bode him well should he choose not to answer the question.

"N-Nick," he stammered fearfully, trying his best to avoid staring back into those malevolent, almost hypnotic red eyes.

"Why hello there, Nick!" the young man laughed. "How nice to meet you….people call me the Grim Reaper, but feel free to call me Grim! After all…why keep things so formal when you and I are about to have so much fun together?!" The Grim Reaper let out a high pitched cackle.

"Please….just let me go," Nicholas moaned. "Whatever you want, you can have it." Try as he might, his assailant's hold was too strong to break.

"But we haven't even started yet! Besides, you don't seem to be enjoying this as much as I! Now we can't have that, can we? Maybe playing another game will cheer you up….Oh, I know!"

The Grim Reaper crooned as he slowly picked up his scythe.

"Here are the rules….I'm going to cut you now, but whenever you scream, my Sableye there will cut your little buddy over there~"

Sableye soundlessly lifted up its claw, ready to strike at the limp Sneasel it held in its other hand. Nicholas's eyes widened with fear, but before he could say anything, the Grim Reaper savagely plunged the scythe into his right arm.

The pain unlike anything he had experienced before exploded into Nicholas. The blade cut in deep, drawing out gush of blood that dripped down his arm and stained his shirt. The force of the trauma very nearly brought a painful scream to his throat, but he somehow held. Only strained groans and gasps escaped his lips. Nicholas's entire body shook and writhed, only serving to make the pain worse.

The Grim Reaper slowly pulled the scythe down, widening the gash and bringing fresh wave of excruciating pain. Nicholas bit down on his lips hard even as tears leaked free from his eyes and veins popped from his face. Though his lips began to bleed, the sight of unconscious Shade drove him to keep himself together. To his relief, the Grim Reaper suddenly pulled out the blade. He brought the scythe to his mouth and gently licked at the dripping blood.

"Hmm, a little bit on the thin side….You could use a little more protein in your diet, don't you think?" The Grim Reaper stared down at Nicholas's pained expression. "You look sad~ What's the matter? Is it me? Am I laughing too much? Is that putting you off?"

"It's the pain," Nicholas gasped out. "It hurts!"

The Grim Reaper was silent for a brief moment. When he spoke again, however, his voice had changed from the usual high-pitched childlike giggle into a low, emotionless rasp. His wide smile however remained unchanged, as if permanently fixed onto his grisly face.

"See, this is the problem with the kids nowadays," he spoke slowly. "They just don't appreciate the value of pain_._"

Nicholas felt the young man's grip tighten, and gritted his teeth as wiry fingers exerted more pressure on his gaping wound.

"You know what I realize? I used to think people are driven by desire….but that's not the truth. What really gets them going….is _pain,_" the Grim Reaper harshly growled the last word for emphasis.

"Pain lets us know what to avoid. Pain teaches us a lesson. Pain motivates us to invent, innovate, and come up with new ways to avoid that unpleasant encounter….But that's not all. Pain also makes us stronger, breeds endurance and patience in both men and Pokémon. If there were no pain, where would we be? But we often forget that very fact, and treat pain as a curse when it's actually the greatest blessing…."

"Unfortunately, I by chance of fortune can no longer feel physical pain. But I take it upon myself to, well, _educate _the public about the joys of it. So when I do you a little favor…..and give it to you by loads, what else to do but be grateful for the opportunity?!"

The Grim Reaper broke out in a loud, hysterical laughter, his body doubling over. His Sableye crooned most contentedly in response. Nicholas simply gaped at his assailant in horror.

"But I see that you're not appreciating my gift at all…." the voice abruptly dropped dangerously low, menace and anger returning in full force. "I don't like that. Not….one….bit."

"Oh, I get it!" he giggled, instantly switching back to his child-like voice. "My fault….apparently I haven't given you enough of the pain for you to appreciate it properly. After all, we constantly need to remind ourselves to be generous here in the Undercity, don't we?"

With that, the Grim Reaper reared back and struck Nicholas across the face with a fist, followed by another and yet another. Nicholas's vision exploded in sparks and pain; he could taste blood flowing into his mouth. Not only did the intensity of the assault failed to subside, the young man swung with increased vigor after every blow.

"Laugh….or scream! Let me hear you squeal, little boy! LAUGH OR SCREAM!"

In a fit of laughter, the young man rose up and slammed his foot down onto the grievous wound on Nicholas's arm. Though Nicholas managed to cope with the horrors of his torture so far, the ensuing pain caught him off guard. A strangled scream of pain finally escaped him, despite his best efforts to suppress it.

"Oops! Pop goes the Weasel~!" the young man howled in glee. "Looks like I'll have to cut your little buddy after all! Sableye, dear, would you kindly make it slow, so we can all enjoy those delightful little screams…."

"No, please—," Nick cried out weakly, fighting to stay conscious. "Just cut me instead!"

"Sorry, pal. Rules are rules! Besides, my Sableye's hungry. And you know what they say….a well-fed Pokémon is a happy Pokémon!"

Nicholas stared in dismay and horror as Sableye flexed its claws and closed on Shade's vulnerable backside. To be forced to watch his own Pokémon mutilated and possibly feasted on, any other form of punishment was preferable—

* * *

><p>The Grim Reaper's manic laughter was suddenly cut off by an earsplitting crackle followed by an explosion. Nicholas felt the weight lifted off of him as the young man was blasted by an electrical surge and sent crashing into the far wall. Debris and cloud of dust rose and obscured his form.<p>

"You all right?" A gruff voice inquired from the doorway.

Nicholas saw a tall teenager standing there, his steely gaze fixed straight ahead. He had a short messy blonde hair standing in all directions as tiny spikes, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. He wore blue jeans, a black t-shirt, a red and blue colored jacket, and black and blue sneakers, all of which seemed worn out. A big Luxray stood in front of him, softly growling and giving sparks of electricity from its body.

"Yeah," Nicholas gasped out. "Cut up a bit, but otherwise—"

"Bullshit, you're bleeding fast," the teenager said firmly. "Find something to press down on your wound for now. We're not out of this yet."

As on cue, a loud groan came from the far wall. Waving aside the cloud of dust, the Grim Reaper slowly staggered to his feet. Some parts of his clothing were singed and smoking.

"Uuuhhh….That wasn't very nice," he drawled as he shook out his limbs. "I still can't feel pain, but that's still not a good excuse to attack someone without heads up~"

"It's good as any if it were to finish you off," the teenager growled in response. The Grim Reaper's smile widened further as his eyes settled on the newcomer.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't Niels! Haven't seen you in a long while, buddy~"

The boy called Niels did not respond, but continued to eye his opponent coldly.

"You know, I've been looking for you the past few months now," the Grim Reaper chuckled as he dusted himself off and picked up his scythe. "Never imagined you'd be running wild with this crowd! What a nice surprise…."

"I suggest you leave now before I have to use necessary force," Niels said coldly. "I wouldn't think twice before killing a homicidal psychopath like you."

"And what, leave behind two potential preys?!" the Grim Reaper giggled. "Besides, you're one of the very few people who'd given me a proper match! It'll be a shame to pass that up now, wouldn't it?"

"I don't have time to spare for anyone like you," Niels spat.

"Oh, but I do disagree….after all, when the Grim Reaper goes after what he wants, he always gets it…..Sableye? Kindly drop the weasel and ready yourself, would you?"

The Sableye looked down wistfully at Shade in its hand, flexing its claws.

"There'll be plenty of meat to be had later…. Just let go of that tiny morsel."

The purple Pokémon reluctantly dropped the unconscious Sneasel—to Nicholas's relief—and joined its master's side. Fighting back pain, Nicholas took out his Pokeball and recalled Shade back. Despite its wounds, at least he would remain unharmed until further treatment.

Niels sighed

"I've given you a chance and you didn't take it. Looks like we'll need to do this the hard way, then. Luxray, let's make sure this maniac won't leave this place intact, shall we?"

Without further word, the two Pokémon lunged forward in an all-out battle.

"Discharge, Luxray!"

The crackling static on Luxray's body rapidly built up into a sizzling aura of lightning, which was viciously unleashed towards Sableye.

"Faint attack!"

Sableye vanished on the spot and the Discharge struck the empty floor, leaving a smoking hole on the carpeting. The purple Pokémon appeared behind its blue-and-black leonine foe, claws raised and ready to strike. Nicholas realized it was the same tactic used to knock out his Sneasel.

"Pivot, then Thunder Fang!" Niels countered calmly, looking unsurprised by the maneuver. His Luxray rolled and twisted its way out of the Sableye's blow by several inches. Before the Sableye could recollect itself, the Luxray pounced back with its fangs glowing white and crackling. Though its foe was swift, there was no chance of dodging the attack at this close range. The fangs clamped tightly on Sableye who screeched in pain as the electricity shot through its body. With a mighty jerk of its head, Luxray threw its foe across the room, knocking several pieces of small furniture aside in the process.

Despite the forceful landing, Sableye immediately raised itself back up and savagely launched itself back at Luxray. Dodging a direct Spark attack, it closed the distance to its enemy in a few seconds.

"Finish it in close quarters!" the Grim Reaper shouted impatiently.

The Sableye conjured a Shadow Ball in its claw and slammed it into the Luxray's chest, knocking it back with a painful cry. Nevertheless, Niels's cool expression did not fudge in a bit.

"Luxray, execute maneuver Number Three, Variation Six, just like we practiced. Mind the debris around you, and make sure not to get any in your way!"

Luxray got back up confidently and nodded. Growling, it appeared to shake itself, and Nicholas looked on in amazement as Luxray suddenly split itself into four copies. The four Luxrays began to race around Sableye, effectively encircling him.

"Ah, one of those fancy little trick of yours, Niels? I don't think I've seen this one before," the Grim Reaper sniggered.

"Too bad, cause we've learned to deal with Double Team a long time ago….didn't we, Sableye?"

Sableye outstretched both of its claws and conjured not one, but two Shadow Balls in total. Before anyone could respond, it flickered and zoomed in behind one of the copies. With a loud _swoosh_, Sableye slammed one of the Shadow Balls and broke the copy into smithereens; in a quick succession, it repeated the routine to destroy another, bringing the number of Luxrays down to two.

"Too bad Faint Attack never misses a target!" the Grim Reaper laughed gleefully. "Makes it easier for tracking down annoying flies!"

"Now, Luxray! Use your Wild Charge!" Niels shouted.

One of the Luxray copies suddenly broke off from its run and rushed at Sableye, its lithe body bathed with electricity.

"There it is~ Blast it with your Night Shade, Sableye!"

Sableye's diamond eyes glowed eerily before emitting an iridescent beam that struck true. To general astonishment, the charging Luxray simply faded out of existence in silence.

"Let me rephrase what I just said," Niels called out. "The _real _Luxray, use your Wild Charge!"

The remaining "copy" now turned and lunged headlong into Sableye. The Purple Pokémon turned, but suddenly began to stagger incoherently.

"What are you doing?! Fight back!" the Grim Reaper hissed in alarm.

Sableye perked up just too late; the leonine Pokémon rammed into it with a brilliant explosion of electricity. The purple Pokémon sailed across the room and landed at its trainer's feet, unconscious and out of the fight.

"Surprised? There's not much to it really," Niels said coolly. "While your Pokémon was dealing with the copy you thought was real, my Luxray used a Swagger using the distraction as a cover."

The Grim Reaper looked stunned for a moment, but slowly started to chuckle that built up into a loud manic laughter.

"See, this is exactly why you're my favorite prey!" the Grim Reaper crowed gleefully while wiping away a tear from his eye. "You never fail to bedazzle me every time we meet! Oh, to be in witness of such tactical brilliance~"

Though feeling faint from loss of blood, Nicholas looked on in awe. It was evident from watching the battle just how unskilled a trainer he had been. The two Pokémon moved very quickly with natural ease, not to mention withstanding hits that would've taken Shade out instantly. Moreover, both the Grim Reaper and Niels knew just how to utilize the strengths of their Pokémon to maximum advantage and exploit openings for a decisive strike. It was just like watching a masterful game of chess.

Choking back laughter, the Grim Reaper recalled unconscious Sableye back into a Pokeball, and threw out another.

"Let's see what else you've got in that brilliant mind of yours, shall we? After all, my friends are still eager for battle…."

The Pokeball opened up to release a Mismagius, another ghost-type Pokémon with hazy cloak-like body and a pointy hat. It floated in the air lazily, leering eerily across the room.

"You've done well, Luxray," Niels said as he recalled the Pokémon. "Scizor, you're up!"

A metallic insect-like Pokémon took shape in front of Niels, its red pincers glistening in the dim light. The Scizor took a brief second to assess its opponent coldly before it took to the air.

"Psybeam, Mismagius!" the Grim Reaper cackled. "Make your prey dance!"

The Mismagius shot a beam of eerie energy rings which Scizor surprisingly took head on. Shielding itself with its claws, the insect Pokémon charged through the beam, dissipating it harmlessly while rapidly closing the gap.

"Think twice before using a psychic attack on a steel-and-bug type," Niels shouted. "Metal Claw!"

"Fade out, Mismagius!" the Grim Reaper countered.

The ghost Pokémon fell back and disappeared from view, evading the swipe from the Scizor's claw.

"I don't think so. Use Pursuit!"

Scizor suddenly zoomed halfway across the room before Nicholas could even blink, and struck air where it appeared to be empty. With a shrill cry, Mismagius popped back into view, staggering but otherwise merely looking miffed.

"Finish it with X-Scissor!" Niels shouted.

"Now, Mismagius…._spring the trap!" _the Grim Reaper hissed. "Confuse Ray!"

Just as Scizor's claw came crashing down on Mismagius, a ghostly aura surrounded the bug and fixed it into place. A dazed look came over Scizor, while it began to stagger about incoherently.

"Like a little dose of your own medicine, Niels?" the Grim Reaper purred.

"You're seriously mistaken if you think a little confusion will do any good!"

"No, I guess not….But this will! Mismagius, show our friend what you've been working on for the past month!"

Mismagius chirped happily as it circled the confused Scizor. Then without warning, it reared up and seemingly _disappeared into _the insect Pokémon's body. The Scizor stiffened up, and after a moment of pause, turned silently towards its trainer, its eyes blank.

"What have you done, you freak?!" Niels barked out in alarm.

The Grim Reaper began to laugh again, his face contorted with triumphant glee.

"Oh, I think the word here is 'possession,' dear Niels…..They say playing with puppets is for kids, but I still find it quite entertaining! You see, I found out that my Mismagius has a knack for ah, _persuading_, certain individuals to our cause. A little trick exclusive to Ghosts, I think."

"Now, Scizor, or should I say, Mismagius….kindly dispatch our little friend here, would you?"

The Scizor-Mismagius staggered towards Niels, its claws raised high. The possession however seemed to have slowed down its movement a tad; the teenager rolled out of the way before the insect Pokémon swiped the empty air.

"Snap out of it, Scizor!' Niels growled as he ducked under another strike.

Scizor paused momentarily, its claws still raised high in the air. A slight shudder ran through its body as its eyes struggles to regain focus. Though still attempting to attack Niels, it was as if an invisible force was holding it back. Nevertheless, the blank look came over Scizor once more, and the Pokémon continued to advance towards its trainer.

"Hm, looks like your pal is resisting possession….my kudos," the Grim Reaper let out a wistful _tsk. _"Guess I'll need to put that into consideration in the future!"

Grimacing, Niels pulled out another Pokeball and tossed it onto the floor. A bipedal blue-and-black canine Pokémon, which Nicholas recognized as a Lucario, took shape and immediately slipped into a battle stance.

"Ah, decided to put your own Pokémon out of misery, have you?" the Grim Reaper leered. "But will your compassion allow for that kind of mistreatment?"

Lucario indeed seemed a bit reluctant to attack its own teammate, giving a questioning backward glance towards its trainer. Lacking such reservation, however, the possessed Scizor swiftly launched itself at its new enemy. Lucario pushed off the first stroke to the side, but the following thrust to the chest caught the Pokémon in full force, knocking it back and eliciting a painful grunt. Seizing the opportunity, Mismagius-Scizor darted forward to deliver another slash with its claw. Lucario grabbed it this time, however, and boosted by the momentum of the attack, tossed the bug Pokémon over its head. Despite crashing into the furniture behind, the possessed Scizor rose to its feet without as much as a single grunt. The possession had apparently dampened the Pokémon's ability to feel pain, Nicholas realized with a start. The tradeoff was reduced movement in exchange for increased resilience; as long as Mismagius hid itself inside its host, the ghost would be protected from further harm.

"Lucario, use Foresight!" Niels suddenly called out. Though the situation appeared to be tricky, the teen had managed to recollect himself, his expression rapt with intense concentration. The canine Pokémon squared its feet and glared intensely at its opponent, eyes gleaming with a strange bluish light.

"Now, use Aura Sphere!"

"Finally, gotten past your sympathies have you?" the Grim Reaper leered as he eyed the ethereal energy sphere concentrated in Lucario's hands. "Still, that won't do you any good! You'll only end up hurting your own friend—"

"You still don't get it, do you?" Niels said coldly. "You may have trained your Pokémon by simply allowing them free rein of their violent nature, but you can only get so far without any concrete knowledge about their abilities!"

"Do explain," the Grim Reaper whispered, his face suddenly filled with excitement.

"Foresight isn't merely used to track down elusive Pokémon; it also allows the user to zoom in and target the _true nature _of the Ghost Pokémon, bypassing any superficial obstacles they may put up in the way! As a Ghost-type user, you should've been aware of it!"

"The Aura Sphere, meanwhile, is not your average move…..it may inflict physical damage, but it also harms the enemy by shredding the spirit and sapping their willpower. But seeing that your Mismagius currently _is_ the "spirit" of my Scizor….you can see my chain of logic in this, can't you?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" the Grim Reaper cried. "Mismagius, use Metal Claw!"

"It's too late!" snapped Niels as Lucario leapt towards the floundering metal bug. "Your possession doesn't allow for speedy movement, it seems. Now, Lucario, let's finish the intruder and get our friend back!"

With a mighty cry, the blue canine slammed the energy sphere straight into Scizor-Mismagius's chest.

The Scizor stumbled at the impact, but the piercing cry of pain that followed did not come from the steel-bug Pokémon. Mismagius tumbled out of its host with a loud whoosh, the possessive hold broken by the Aura Sphere. Lucario did not miss the window of opportunity; before the ghost could recover, the canine Pokémon pounced at its true foe and delivered another devastating Aura Sphere to knock it out of battle for good.

The Grim Reaper solemnly recalled Mismagius, that unnatural smiled still plastered onto his face. He quickly replaced Mismagius's Pokeball with another.

"Thanks for yet another amazing performance! I'm certainly learning a thing or two from you today….As for our next battle—"

"That's as far as you go," Niels said coldly. "I've only put up with your charade to buy more time. Your usual obsession for battle has allowed for a little backup to arrive, you see."

As on cue, several Silver Wing gangers rushed into the lounge from all directions, clutching Pokeballs or wielding baseball bats and such. Nobody seemed especially brave to attack the Grim Reaper alone, and the crowd instead formed a circle around the young man.

"Ah, what a shame….and I was having so much fun!" the Grim Reaper sighed dramatically as he absent-mindedly twirled his scythe around. "Well, looks like I'll need to come back another day."

"Give it up!" Niels growled "You may have gotten away with your bloodthirsty habits in the past, but we're going to put an end to this here. It's over!"

"For you and your friends maybe. But I, on the other hand, have flesh to taste and blood to drink! The world is my oyster….so to speak. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"Seize him!" Niels called out. Several gangers rushed forward, but the Grim Reaper quickly pulled several small pellets out of his pocket and dashed them against the ground. There was a loud _bang _followed by a thick smokescreen that obscured everything from view. By the time everything cleared, the Grim Reaper had already disappeared, an open window testifying to his speedy exit.

"That sneaky bastard," Niels growled. "You two, check the parameters, make sure he's gone for good. The rest of you, let's clean up this mess. And someone help the kid up to the sofa, would you?"

The gangers moved quickly to their tasks, picking up the discarded furniture and fetching brooms to clean up the debris. Two boys helped Nicholas up and took him over to the sofa. Despite his dizziness from the loss of blood, soft cushions under his back felt like heaven.

"Please tell me someone knows first aid around here! We don't need another kid dead, for Arceus's sakes!"

"Amber's on her way. She'll know what to do," one of the gangers replied.

"Tell her to be quick about it. But in the meantime, fetch some heavy cloth, a bandage or a towel. We need to stop the bleeding as soon as possible. And get something alcoholic as well."

Nicholas shut his eyes in an effort to calm himself down. He had begun to register only now just how close he had been to death. If not for timely intervention, the Grim Reaper would've killed him or even worse, fed on him. The prospect of becoming a cannibal snack did not sound like an appealing fate in store. Nicholas heard a sound of movement next to him, and looked up to see Niels sitting down on the coffee table.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said in a low voice. "We need to sterilize your wound with alcohol first before we can wrap it up, otherwise your arm can possibly gangrene. It will hurt though, so brace yourself. Are you ready for this?"

Nicholas nodded nervously, and clenched his hands tightly.

"All right then, here we go—"

Taking an open bottle of whiskey from a ganger, Niels poured out the clear, bitter-smelling liquid onto Nicholas's arm. A fresh wave of pain hit him, eliciting a strangled cry. Someone proceeded to clean his wound before tying an old towel around it, taking care not to apply excessive pressure.

"The Grim Reaper had done a number on you, but at least this will prevent any further blood loss. By the looks of it, the main artery fortunately doesn't seem to have ruptured. Otherwise you'd been dead by now….here, have a drink. It'll help with the pain, at least for a while."

Though Nicholas had never touched alcohol in his life, he accepted the shot glass nevertheless and downed the whiskey in one gulp. The fiery liquid burned his throat and almost made him retch, but Nicholas managed to keep it down.

"Thanks for saving my life," he rasped hoarsely.

"I didn't do it for you," Niels replied flatly. "I was coming in to see Ibrahim, and that maniac just happened to be in the way. If you want to thank someone, thank your little play buddy with the Zigzagoon. If she hadn't run into me sooner, you wouldn't have made it."

"Is she okay then?" Nicholas asked eagerly.

"She ran off, presumably to her home."

Gratitude and fondness filled Nicholas as he silently thanked Lana. Despite her shy disposition, she just knew how to save a life in the nick of time.

"You're name is Nick, isn't it? Niels asked. "The new guy from the spires?"

"Yes."

"Tell me this then, _Nick_….Why did you do it?"

Nicholas blinked.

"Pardon?"

"I heard what you did back here, when you faced the Grim Reaper. What I mean is, why did you decide to investigate the attack alone, and then opted to stay behind and fight him, all because of a little girl you just met?"

"I couldn't let him get at her," Nicholas muttered. "You saw what he was doing to the body, in the kitchen…."

"Oh, I know his habits intimately," Niels pressed on. "But _why_? Why did you take it upon yourself?"

"Because I had to," Nick replied solemnly. "It's what my parents would've done. It's what I would've been expected to do."

Niels stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You're either the dumbest of the lot….or the bravest. At any rate, either attitude is going to get you killed out here. In case you didn't know already, the man you tangled with….his only known alias is the Grim Reaper, a top-ranking Lieutenant of the Reapers and a notorious psychopath around these parts. He's not known for leaving his victims alive and kicking."

"But I couldn't just put her in danger, could I? Even if I didn't know her, I had to do something—"

"And your plan was to put yourself in the way like some chivalrous knight? The Grim Reaper would've killed you without a blink of an eye and tracked down the girl in less than a minute. Trust me, the bastard never gives up on a target he sets his eyes on until either the hunter or the prey is dead. The girl may not have appealed to him, but the Grim Reaper would hunt her down in time after he's done with either of us. It will take a long time, but he will get it done."

"Are you saying I should've just ditched Lana and run away?" Nicholas asked indignantly.

"All I'm saying is that you've actually made the situation worse than it could've been. You put the girl in danger the moment you brought her along into the scene of the attack," Niels spoke slowly and firmly. "If you really cared for her safety, why didn't you send her away _first_ and then investigate the break-in alone"?"

Niels' words struck Nicholas like a lightning. The solution was so simple and obvious; the implications of his oversight suddenly seemed so horrifying.

"I-I…..well…..why didn't I—"

"You couldn't think of it, Nick, because you were so set on following the so-called honor code you have embedded in your system. Some people may say it is virtuous to stick to one's principles. But the question is, do those principles really prove their worth every time?"

"You say you're from the spires," Niels gazed sternly at Nicholas, just as a parent would look at a child or a teacher would to a student. "You may not be a noble, but you sure are acting like one, a sanctimonious one at that. See, many people believe that the world revolves around certain rules, such rules that they adopt as their own. As result, they blindly follow the so-called honor code in all situations, not knowing those dogmatic actions often condemn people near them as well as themselves. Sure, those principles may appear desirable in appearance, but knowing _when_ to apply them and _how_ to follow them is a skill unto itself. You thought it was your duty to protect your host's belongings and face whatever danger, yes? But in doing so, you had possibly condemned an innocent life in the process. That is not chivalry; that is selfishness."

Nicholas hung his head in shame, his mind in shambles. Everything Niels told him was true. Despite his best intentions, he had somehow managed to drag Lana into the mess along with him.

"The danger of living according to principles is that sometimes those same rules often blind us to reality. The Undercity has no room for the bravest or the dumbest. Do you want to survive, and better yet, learn to be responsible for the lives of those who depend on you?"

Nicholas nodded weakly, looking dazed and quite vulnerable.

"Yes."

"Then learn to be smart for a change! Always look at the situation _as it is_, and act according to what the circumstances demand!" Niels' voice rose a tad higher. "Of course, it always helps to be stronger as well. Always remember that only by developing strength and will can you protect what is precious to you….Otherwise, you'll be setting yourself up for future disappointments and broken hearts."

Those words rang true in Nicholas's consciousness. A rough idea of what must be done took shape as he chewed over them in silence.

"I'm not even obligated to teach you any of this," Niels grumbled. "I don't even belong in the Silver Wings."

Nicholas stared in surprise. "You're not? I guessed you would be a Lieutenant at least…."

"Nah, it's not in my nature to keep company. Besides, I'm not too inclined to help anyone. They would only slow me down. I'm simply happy to remain as 'an honored guest'."

Niels rose from his seat and turned away.

"Get some rest. You'll need your strength if you want to stay afloat during this whole mess we're all about to go through."

Nicholas stared in bewilderment

"But I thought—"

"What, you thought this sordid business was all over?"

"Isn't it?"

"To the contrary," Niels said coldly. "This is only the beginning."

* * *

><p>"What a mess….This doesn't bode well for the Silver Wings, or other gangs in the neighborhood for that matter."<p>

The streets outside was dark, lit only by the still functioning streetlamps. Only Ibrahim and Niels occupied the small office at this late hour, sitting across the desk from each other. A glass of whiskey sat in front of each of them, long forgotten and neglected. While Ibrahim's expression couldn't have been darker, Niels appeared unperturbed, his gaze steely.

"Two rank-and-files killed, headquarters ransacked, and the only ones with enough guts to face the Grim Reaper were you and the kid, both non-members. Freakin' fantastic," Ibrahim muttered, his fingers drumming the desk surface. "It's going to take a fortune to fix all the damage."

"Any idea what the Grim Reaper was here for?" Niels asked coolly.

"Fortunately, we know that much. I've talked with the former members of the Black Roses and the Mavericks. Apparently, this is a typical Reaper tactic: send in the Grim Reaper to inflict maximum damage, possibly taking out the chain of command, and thereby allowing the Reaper to storm in and clean up the rest. The strategy had worked frighteningly well in the past instances, judging from the testimonies I obtained," Ibrahim sighed. "Thank Arceus most of us were out on business. The losses, while tragic, had been minimal. Otherwise—"

"Will you be expecting a major Reaper offense?"

"I actually don't think so….This tactic had worked in the past because the Grim Reaper actually managed to sow confusion and terror among the ranks. But we're much better organized and more powerful than the Black Roses or the Mavericks ever were…. The Grim Reaper can't shake us up so easily, and the Reapers know this as well. I bet the Reapers will wait for a while, calculate our next moves."

"Then you think this is just a test, just to assess the strength of the Silver Wings?"

Ibrahim nodded.

"Still, this is a dead serious matter. What the Reapers will do next would depend on how we react, so we cannot show any signs of weakness. The base security will need to be tightened, first and foremost. The rank-and-files are clearly ill-prepared to handle this sort of crisis. More importantly, now we know that the Reapers are apparently not satisfied with their recent conquests. They'll drive towards Palmyrian Heights eventually. No mistake about it….."

"This just won't be your average gang turf warfare," Niels said softly, his eyes looking out the window. "The game is changing. Never in recent years has one gang been so aggressive and open about its ambitions. Rules will be broken, all right, but the usual alliances will be tested as well. And you as well as I know too well that friendships are the first ones to go during crises."

"Well, if things come to head, we might head over to the Thief's Bounty, and appeal to T.J. for intervention. Until things get more serious, we'll prepare ourselves to meet any future aggression from the Reapers. It's come to my attention that many of us require additional training. Lots and lots of it, I must add; it's time kids remind themselves that gang life isn't all about fun and games. Despite our best effort, violence is going to be the only solution left available to us in the end."

Silence briefly settled in the office, interrupted only by the faint sound of occasional cars and cries of wild Pokémon outside drifting inside.

"How's the kid, that Nick? I haven't had a chance to see him yet, with all this mess going around," Ibrahim asked as he picked up his glass and took a sip.

"The last time I saw him your guys were putting him to bed. The Grim Reaper messed him up quite badly. It's lucky he survived; most of past encounters with the bastard ended rather messily."

"I must say, I'm rather impressed, despite the outcome," Ibrahim chuckled. "He was apparently quite chivalrous enough to stay around when others have fled. That kid's got more guts than I gave him credit for."

"He was naïve, and therefore, quite clueless about what needed to be done at the situation," Niels said flatly. "If he thinks he can pull off that kind of stunt every time, he won't last long out here."

"True, but naivety combined with the right qualities can make for a strong catalyst for personal growth. I suppose we'll keep an eye on him, see how he handles himself in the coming days. Anyways….you fought with the Grim Reaper then?"

Niels nodded, a faint look of disgust passing over his features.

"It's been, what, nearly six months since the last match? How well did the monster perform this time?"

"He's grown smarter and more powerful since the last time I've seen him," Niels growled. "He's still beneath me skill-wise, but given his enormous progress so far, I don't want to imagine how good he may become in the near future."

"That Grim Reaper….he's the one who tracked you first after the _incident_, isn't he?" Ibrahim inquired. "After _they_….turned on you?"

"That was him, alright," Niels nodded. "I beat him easily the first time we met, but he just keeps seeking me out repeatedly. This time, he had a few deadly tricks up his sleeve that actually caught me unawares. At any rate, this won't be over until either of us is dead."

"I don't think the Grim Reaper will want to kill you off just yet," Ibrahim smiled. "I know how people like him think. If you're no longer here, who'll be around to keep him on his toes?

"Preferably another monster who can give him what he rightfully deserves. But it wouldn't be pleasant to talk about the possibility of having more of such freaks out on the loose….Why don't' we just finish up our normal business, and put this incident behind us?"

"Why, of course."

Ibrahim pulled out a neat stack of bills from the desk and handed it over to Niels.

"That's three hundred for what I took off your hands. The rest of the stuff you might want to take over to Yunis' place, 'cause we can't dispose that kind of material ourselves. Still, it was a pleasure doing business with you."

Niels wordlessly stowed the money deep inside his jacket.

"You remember my previous offer, don't you?" Ibrahim muttered. "It still stands, you know. The Silver Wings will always have a space left open for you."

Niels remained silent, his cold gaze still fixed on Ibrahim's inscrutable face.

"You're not the first person to say that," he said slowly. "But given my relationship with your group, I should admit it's not easy to turn it down…..Still, you know that's not how I usually work. Besides, I know better than to believe that all promises of friendship are permanent." Niels picked up the glass and gulped down the remaining whiskey in one go.

"I appreciate the sentiment though. No offense."

"None taken," Ibrahim replied smoothly.

Niels stood up, smoothing out his shabby clothes. "I should get going, now the business is done. Watch your back, and I hope you'll stay alive at least until our next meeting."

Ibrahim watched on coolly as the blond teenager gathered his belongings and headed towards the door.

"Don't you trust me then?"

Niels stopped for brief moment, his hand still resting on the doorframe.

"I don't," he replied at length without looking back. "Should I?"

"No," Ibrahim said nonchalantly, "You really shouldn't."

Without further word, Niels walked out and disappeared down the hallway beyond.

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R!<strong>

**Special Notification: **

** OC WANTED: Silver Wings' resident techie/hacker who's an expert in computers and all sorts of other machinery; must have at least a Porygon (or any of its evolutions) and Rotom in his/her Pokémon team. **

** Optional: former member(s) of the Black Roses and Mavericks who is a bit traumatized by the destruction of his/her former gang by the Reapers**


	6. OC Sheet & More Background Info

For the benefit of the readers, I decided to put up a little additional information about the Undercity and beyond. I've also created a basic OC creation sheet that people may use for future submissions. Hope you enjoy this little tidbit!

* * *

><p><strong>The Structure of Shadowgrave City, from top to "bottom":<strong>

The Spires:

These massive towers are essentially gated communities inhabited by the nobles; the nobles rarely concern themselves with the "lower classes," unless they really have to. Most, if not all, consider themselves above the rest of the citizenry—both literally and figuratively. There are six spires in total in Shadowgrave City.

Level One:

The top layer at the foot of the spires is filled with offices, company headquarters, museums, parks, universities and etc. The members of the upper class and the city elites, who are nevertheless not as wealthy as the nobles, also live here.

Levels Two:

The home of the middle-class citizens, mostly white collar workers; an urban suburb, in a matter of speaking.

Levels Three, Four, and Five:

The Factory Levels: also inhabited by the lower-class citizens (blue-collar workers); mostly huge factories and apartment housings

Undercity:

The forgotten, neglected part of the city made up of three decrepit levels; haven for the destitute, the outcasts, and criminals.

The Forgotten Levels:

The abandoned, uninhabited levels below the undercity; extremely dangerous due to wild ghost Pokémon swarming the deepest depths; no one knows what lies down there….

The entire city, in a bigger picture, is essentially a one colossal tower of massive proportions.

* * *

><p><strong>Gang Hierarchy:<strong>

Rank-and-File:

Rank-and-Files are essentially younger neighborhood teenagers who aspire to join the gangs someday. Although they are not allowed to participate actively in the gang affairs, some take upon themselves to carry out small errands and chores for the gang in order to earn favor.

Ages: 11-16, Maximum number of Pokemon: 1

Grunts:

The Grunts are foot soldiers of a gang and the most numerous of the lot, inducted from the Rank-and-Files who pass the initiation test. They often travel in squads of up to five, and the most promising ones are designated as squad leaders. The skill levels of the grunts vary wildly, some stronger and more adept trainers than others.

Ages: 15-19, Maximum number of Pokemon: 2~4

Lieutenants:

Lieutenants are the "officers" who oversees major operations and commands multiple squads. They are resourceful individuals as well as gifted trainers, a single Lieutenant being able to take on multiple grunts with ease. The larger the gang, the more lieutenants are appointed to keep the grunts in line.

Ages: 16-19, Maximum number of Pokemon: 4~5

Leaders:

A leader of a gang is obviously the smartest and the strongest of the lot. His or her ability to climb to the top of the ladder speaks volumes about his or her skills. As powerful trainers, these individuals are force to be reckoned with.

Ages: 16 and above, Maximum number of Pokemon: 6

*Treasure Hunters*:

Very rarely, some individuals will not choose to align himself or herself with a gang, and instead strike out on his or her own. This is by no means an easy feat, since being alone in the undercity makes one susceptible to increased predation and attacks by other gangs. Needless to say, those few treasure hunters who do succeed are, along with the gang leaders, among the strongest trainers in the Undercity.

Ages: 16 and above, Maximum number of Pokemon: 6

Of course, not all gangs adhere to this hierarchy word to word; some exceptions are known to exist among the gang community. Furthermore, rank does not gauge the trainer's skills objectively; for example, a Lieutenant of a powerful gang can easily outmatch a Leader of a smaller, weaker gang.

* * *

><p><strong>Sample OC creation sheet:<strong>

Name:

Nickname, if any:

Gender:

Age:

Appearance: (physical features)

Dress/Accessories/Tools of Trade:

Personality:

Place of Origin: (Can be out of Shadowgrave, but preferably one of the top five levels or better yet, the Undercity itself)

History:

Occupation/Skills/Specialty:

Strengths & Weaknesses:

Gang Affiliations: (Yes/No)

If so, which gang? (Feel free to make up your own)

What rank? (Rank-and-File, Grunt, Lieutenant, or Leader)

Quirks/Habits:

Pokemon:

Love interest, if any:

Envisioned Role in the story/relationship with the protagonists?:

Additional Info:

I personally favor trainers with an "unusual" Pokémon team roster: try to include Pokémon that most people wouldn't think to include in their lineups. And please, for the love of God, refrain from submitting an overpowered OC. (My worst nightmare: Age ten; fifty-times Pokémon league champion; captured all the legendary Pokémon; six foot five, well-built, infused with the DNA of Mewtwo; has a perfect personality; and all sorts of other bullcrap)

**Remember, it's never too late to submit an OC!**

* * *

><p><strong>Special thanks to people whose OCs have appeared in the story so far:<strong>

Sammy Riverdale:** CoffeeTarts**

Magda Hernandez: **A Half-Empty Glass**

Chase: **PeAcEwOlF**

Amber Zinohara: **Amaya Kagamine -RinXLen4ever**

Grim Reaper: **ghost13579**

Niels: **Nielsthomas1**


	7. The Last of the Caverells

**The Last of the Caverells**

* * *

><p>It was just like the old days.<p>

Nicholas was six years old again and sitting on the lap of his faithful butler Wilbur. A traveling circus had come to Shadowgrave City, and the spire nobles had hired the troupe to put on a private show for the city elite. His father could not take Nicholas to see the performance, but Wilbur had risen to the challenge and secured a ringside seat for both of them. Young Nicholas laughed and squealed as graceful acrobats, bumbling clowns, and daring beast-tamers plied their skills in the ring. Wilbur, dutiful as ever, periodically wiped his master's mouth with a napkin clean of buttered popcorn crumbs. The circus tent was full of spire-nobles, city officials, and industrial magnates who had come out with their families to see the show. All around Nicholas, richly dressed men, women, and children were raising a din, gasping, laughing, and screaming.

A large Pyroar sauntered out into the ring along with its tamer, and the audience sharply drew breath as several flaming hoops were lowered from the ceiling. At the crack of the tamer's whip, the leonine Pokémon began leaping through the burning rings in succession, each one raised higher than the one before. Nicholas and the audience gasped and clapped each time the Pyroar emerged from the flames unscathed. Each feat became progressively more complicated until the Pokémon was executing in an elaborate triple flip and a mid-air twist. The Pyroar's sinuous body writhed and flexed in impossible ways as it soared through four rings of fire, all without losing the feline grace. Nicholas howled in excitement along with the crowd…until he realized the Pokémon's body was still twisting. The Pyroar blurred and distorted, its bones snapping and furs fading away until it had transformed into a human. Lithe and gangly, the track-suited young man reared up with theatrical relish and Nicholas found himself staring into the nightmarish face of the Grim Reaper.

Not so much as a single gasp of surprise was heard from the crowd, however. Nicholas looked around to see every single man, woman, and child in the tent writhing and distorting in the same manner. Limbs stretched and clothes faded away until he found himself under the baleful gaze of hundreds of Grim Reapers filling the seats all around him. The legion of the psychotic young men began to cackle madly as they crowded towards Nicholas. Fear and panic seized and rooted him to his spot, cutting off all chances of escape. Nicholas wanted to scream and cry, but no sound escaped from his throat. He turned to Wilbur in desperation, only to find his friend replaced by the leering face of his uncle Frederick. Nicholas tried to scramble away from him, but his uncle's hands held him in a vice-like grip. Nicholas struggled helplessly as his wide fear-filled eyes stared at the laughing Grim Reapers who had reached him.

As no less than half a dozen killers raised their blood-crusted scythes for a felling blow, Nicholas's throat finally burst forth in a terrible scream.

* * *

><p>Nicholas sputtered awake with a strangled cry escaping his mouth. As always, nausea immediately took him, and the teenager rolled over in his cot to throw up into the plastic bucket he'd set up the previous night. The bitter taste of bile on his tongue jolted him partially from the stupor, and Nicholas fell back to take a couple of long ragged breathes to steady his heart. When his head cleared sufficiently, he unsteadily rose to his feet and staggered out into the bathroom in the hallway.<p>

Nicholas dove for the basin as soon as his fumbling hands found the light switch and doused his sweaty, burning face with cold water. The last of the dizziness fled and left him with some measure of coherence and grasp on reality. Morning had not yet come to the Undercity and all was quiet throughout the headquarters. Most of the Silver Wing gangers would be asleep by now and Nicholas doubted any of them would have enough energy to roam around this time of the night, except for those on sentry duty. He leant heavily into the sink and wearily raised his head to stare into the dirty mirror. His normally pale face seemed pallid and wasted than ever, while his bloodshot eyes spoke of nothing but fatigue. His raven hair had grown into a disheveled mess that covered his ears and prickled his eyes. If his mind hadn't been in the right place, he would've believed he was staring into someone else's face.

Nicholas felt his right arm throb and instinctively reached for the long jagged scar covering his forearm. A scar tissue almost nine inches long ran down his skin, a reddish line blemishing the pale white flesh. Even under his soft touch, the wound was still hot and pulsated angrily. Though it had managed to heal without serious complications, Nicholas was told that the scar would continue to bother him for long after it closed up. It was as much an irritant as it was a vivid reminder of what had happened to him on that terrible day.

It has almost been three weeks since his near-fatal encounter with the Grim Reaper. The damages done to the headquarters had been quickly repaired, but the same could not be said for Nicholas. For several days, the teenager was confined to bed, kept on semi-regular doses of antibiotics and bandages until he recovered from the worst of the concussions, bruises, and cuts. The deep cut on his arm was a trickier matter, requiring stitches and regular sterilization while minor infections brought high fever and chills. But even after Nicholas started walking around without help, his psychological scars were beyond anyone's reach. Nicholas had lost much sleep and weight, but those were nothing compared to the demons that haunted his mind. Nightmares of his ordeal would return night after night, and he would often wake up covered in cold sweat and out of breath. Slightest noises unnerved him, high-pitched laughter frightened him, and he couldn't even look at a sharp blade without cringing. His trauma held a grip on him so tight it became an intimate part of his life.

The Silver Wings had generally been sympathetic to his plight. Aside from few rank-and-files assigned to look after him during recovery, Sammy, Amber, and even Ibrahim occasionally came by to visit with snacks and news of what was going on around him. Still, as things stood, sympathy was a rare commodity in the Undercity. As Nicholas quickly learned, gangers' patience with those who couldn't pull their own weight and contribute was apparently limited. As an outsider, he felt the sentiment more keenly than others. Looks of contempt were soon being thrown in his way as often as looks of sympathy.

Nicholas had really tried his best to stay strong. He took up his janitorial duties again as soon as he got better, and began to exercise regularly to regain what little stamina he possessed in the first place. But for all his efforts, he was fighting an uphill battle. His spirits fell lower and lower even as he became healthier. It was as if an invisible weight was pressing down inside his guts that no amount of exercise or rest could lift. Worse still was the sight of the gangers who faced such horrors every day and lived on as if nothing had happened. Was he such a weak person to have broken down so easily? The presence of others had become unbearable as they constantly reminded him of his own weaknesses, fears, and the vision of an inevitable doom that awaited him in the Undercity.

He was undone. As much as Nicholas hated to admit it, the Undercity had broken him.

A soft mewling from the bathroom doorway awoke Nicholas from his reverie. Shade was staring at him intently, his eyes filled with puzzlement and concern. Such emotion seemed so out of character for his usually snide Pokémon that Nicholas couldn't help but gape. There was no knowing what made the weasel Pokémon more resilient than his owner. Shade had recovered quicker than Nicholas had and spent much of his days watching over his recovering trainer. Though his constant presence was welcoming, Nicholas could tell the weasel had not taken his humiliating defeat well. Whenever they needed to chase out household pests from the headquarters, Shade lashed out at his unfortunate victims with reckless fury that bordered on mania. On some level, Nicholas understood how his companion felt. Shade's pride had been damaged badly, and the Pokémon was doing his best to recapture his former confidence. What he would give to have that sort of enthusiasm himself, Nicholas thought ruefully.

"I can't do this anymore, Shade," Nicholas rasped as he rested his chin against his chest. "No matter what I do, however I do it….I just can't go on like this. I don't think I was supposed to come down here in the first place."

The Sneasel remained as he was, though his expression darkened noticeably.

"I've hit rock bottom….and I'm afraid there is only one thing I can do escape. Only thing I _have _to do," Nicholas continued. "I'm not sure you'd approve though."

Slowly, Shade approached Nicholas and gingerly placed his paw up against his leg, before leaning in to give a brief hug. The faintest smile flickered across Nicholas; no matter what happened, he would at least one vote of confidence.

* * *

><p>"You're leaving."<p>

Nicholas faltered under Ibrahim's gaze before slowly nodding. The leader of the Silver Wings was reviewing his morning announcements after breakfast with two of his Lieutenants, Chase and Magda, when Nicholas dropped by his office. Ghostly neon light trickling in from the outside lit up the room in a dull glow. Three steaming cups of coffee sat on the desk untouched amongst ledgers and pens.

"I am."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Chase exclaimed. "Where are you going to go? You can't just walk out of here and expect to find safety and charity. If you haven't noticed already, this is Undercity. You won't last a day out there by yourself!"

"I thought I might try to find a way to leave Shadowgrave altogether," Nicholas said. "I just…don't think I have what it takes to make it out here, you know?

"And how do you think you're going to do that?" Magda replied with a raised eyebrow. "All the exits out of the city are manned and guarded. And if the police are still out there looking for you, then you are sure to get caught and hauled off to jail or worse. Frankly, I'm starting to wonder if you're being suicidal with all this nonsense."

"But at least there is still a slim chance that I might somehow make it through," Nicholas replied. "All I know is that if I stay here any longer, I'll be done for sure. Besides, aren't I just wasting food and meds at the moment? I don't want to put a burden on you guys for any longer."

Chase opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Ibrahim held up his hand.

"If you want to leave, then by all means go. We won't stop you," Ibrahim spoke softly. "You're only our guest and so we can't force you to stay. We can't cram any advice down your throat either, for that matter. After all, you were the one to seek us out in the first place, not the other way around. So go ahead, feel free to do whatever you want."

The young man simply stared with a cool expression, though Nicholas thought he saw what looked like a flash of disappointment flicker across his face.

"Besides, you'll be sparing all of us from witnessing whatever unpleasantness that'll claim you in the end… Just try not to run into any Reapers when you're out there. You wouldn't want those bastards butchering you, much less taking you alive."

An involuntary shiver ran down Nicholas's back. Keeping a lump from rising to his throat with some difficulty, he nodded.

"I'll do what I can to keep out of sight."

Ibrahim stared at him for a moment, and then sighed. "No, you won't. And I'll bet my neck that you can't. Besides, it would be bad for us if someone got a hold of you and squeeze whatever info you might have on our headquarters. Not a risk I'd be willing to take."

Ibrahim rose from his seat and went over to a battered intercom mounted on the wall. Punching in a few numbers, he waited briefly until the steady rings were interrupted by a deep baritone.

"Yes?"

"CJ, do me a little favor would you? I'm sending a kid down your place right now. Could you print out a copy of the route map three-dash-A and give it to him? And make sure to go over it together before sending him off."

"Not a problem," the voice replied, his tone broken up by a little crackle. "Got ourselves another quitter, have we?"

"You know it," Ibrahim replied and stepped away. Nicholas stared at him in surprise.

"_Another _quitter?"

"You think you're the first one to cut it and leave us?" Ibrahim replied. "Anyhow, I've decided to do you one last favor before you left. I'm giving you a map with the safest directions to the nearest exit out of Undercity. It'll tell you which street to take and what places to avoid. Deviate at your own risk. Once you're back in the upper levels, you'll be on your own, mind you. Still, it'll drastically raise the odds for you making out of this dump in one piece."

Nicholas looked up in surprise, taken aback by this sudden generosity.

"Thank you. I…I don't know what to say."

"Like I said before, this is as much a precaution for us as it is a favor for you. Can't have you falling in the hands of a wrong gang, can we? So…what you're going to do is go down the basement and find the door labeled _Logistics & Engineering_. You know where that is?"

"I've seen it," Nicholas nodded. "Though I've never been inside before."

"CJ, our chief technician, will be waiting for you with the copy of the map. Be respectful around him; he is effectively on par with any of our lieutenants, and he should be treated as one. He'll go over the map with you and give you any sort of advice you'd need for the trip."

"And remember to pick up your stuff from the storage on the first floor while you're at it," Magda added. "You'll find your backpack on one of the shelves."

"You got all that?" Chase asked.

"Yes, I do," Nicholas nodded. "Again, thanks you for all the help you've given me. I don't know how I would've survived here for as long as I have without you all."

"Don't even think about getting sappy on us," Chase said with a grin. "Still…I guess it was fun having you around. Now we'll have to find someone else to clean this grubby place."

"We'd see you off, but we're really busy today, you see," Magda explained. "There's a large vault that needs cracking in an abandoned bank few levels below, and we're bringing in our monthly shipment of food for the whole gang from the government commissary. We've got to get going soon. A lot of things to keep track of—"

"Would you can it, Mag? Don't tell him more than he needs to know! He's no longer a part of this group, in case you've forgotten," Ibrahim snapped irritably, and turned his gaze back down at the ledger on the desk.

"Well then, go along now and leave us to our job," he muttered and casually waved him away. "Goodbye."

Nicholas was about to say his farewell and turn away when a thought suddenly struck him.

"There just one more thing I want to ask about," he asked, prompting Ibrahim to look up annoyed.

"What?"

"When we first met, you had mentioned something about a charity, set up by my…old master," Nicholas ventured cautiously. "That was how you were able to recognize the mark on my Pokeball, remember?"

"Hmm…I do remember saying something like that at one point. What about it?"

"Well….could you tell me more about this charity?"

"Whatever for?"

"I dunno…call me curious, I guess."

Ibrahim blinked a few times in confusion, and Nicholas almost expected no response when the young man put aside his ledger and leaned forward.

"When that nobleman—I forgot his name; Cavell or Carver or something—first came down and told the folks he was actually here to help them, most of us didn't take him seriously. After all, the spire-nobles have always been happy to leave us be. We didn't think why this one should be any different. Still, the fellow did seem quite committed, and over time there had been some families who gave him a chance and actually benefitted from the charity. Food, clothing, even some basic education…." Ibrahim's forehead crunched in thought.

"The man's' efforts did seem to be paying off at first….that is, until the gangs caught onto the whole business and decided they could take advantage of it."

"What happened?" Nicholas asked, almost breathlessly.

"Simply put, the gangs began to use the charity as an excuse to hike up the protection fees across the Undercity. They were thinking that now that the folks had more things, they should be paying more for protection, you know? Some gangs even charged extra from those who had never applied for aid. Not only that, the aid depots became tempting targets for gang raids once words went around about the supplies stockpiled there. The first few thefts soon escalated into a five-way gang war few years back that ravaged the aid distribution channel completely. The War for the Free Booty, they called it. Several neighborhoods lay in ashes before things settled down."

"After that, no one really got around to getting that charity back on its feet. Supplies stopped coming in, the benefits slowly trickled to nothing, and soon enough everyone sort of…forgot that it was there. The depots fell into ruin like all the buildings around here, and anything that they couldn't keep their eyes on got stolen. Even that nobleman was never around to oversee the end of his charity. The last of the charity workers left Undercity couple years ago, taking anything valuable back with them."

"Oh, those stupid, stupid spire-nobles," Magda chuckled nastily. "Thought they could just come in here and change everything with their money, didn't they? They thought they could succeed where millions of gutter runners have failed. But get tangled up with a real taste of reality and suddenly they are so eager to run back to their comfy little homes upstairs. The pansies, every single one of them."

Despite himself, Nicholas felt a shard of indignation stab through his heart.

"You'll have to excuse Magda. She thinks anything short of punching a Gyarados in the face doesn't deserve her approval," Ibrahim said. "To be fair…I actually do think that nobleman was sincere, if not well-informed. Some of the spire-dwellers may indulge in charity for show and the novelty of it, but he may have been the very first to take his endeavor seriously. Truly a rare individual of his kind…And I guess that's the main reason why I still remember him and his crest after all this time."

"The problem was that he was a _nobleman_ and didn't know how things worked in the Undercity. Heck, no one from above can fully understand what this place is like. The nobles don't know the struggles we go through every day, how each cent and each bite is worth more than the shining buckles on their shoes, or that surviving more than a year here is a miracle even for the best of us. What morality those nobles take for granted is a luxury for us. If they really wanted to help us, why don't they try giving up their wealth and learn what it is like to live like the masses for a change?"

"Not that they would anyway. Hell, even I wouldn't do it, if I were one of them," Ibrahim added, "So does that satisfy your curiosity?"

_It did, _Nicholas thought to himself as he nodded weakly. _But it would've been better if I didn't even ask._

* * *

><p>Nicholas leaned in and knocked three times against the metal door, on which the letters <em>Logistics &amp; Engineering <em>was printed in thick bold fonts. Windowless and studded with metal bolts, the door looked more like an entrance to a jail cell than an office. The bleak image was made even worse by the sparse lighting of the basement casting dim shadows across the rusted metal surface. After a harsh grating sound of a sliding latch, the door opened inwards with a jarring screech.

"Ah, I've been expecting you. You must be Nick, yes?"

Nicholas looked up, only to have his words fail him. Standing before him was a giant young man whose bulk almost took up the entire doorway. Bulging muscles of his barrel-chested torso strained against his navy shirt and jeans, supported by a pair of muscular arms and legs as thick as tree trunks. A pair of keen bright green eyes set into his dark-skinned face, however, spoke of great intelligence that complemented his physique. No doubt, here stood the most perfect example Nicholas had ever seen in his life of a person's mind achieving impeccable balance with his body.

"Hey, are you listening? Why are you looking at me like that, eh?" the giant rumbled, his voice a deep bass that reverberated through his diaphragm. "Sheesh, don't tell me it's the hair. I knew I should've gone with the blue dye instead of the red one." His one broad hand absent-mindedly stroked his closely shaved hair dyed bright red, which struck a strange contrast with the color of his skin.

"No, I didn't mean…I mean, yes, I'm Nick. Ibrahim told me to come down here, get a map of a sort…"

"Yes, I know why you're here. Come in, will you?"

Nicholas silently followed the young man as he strode back into the room. Unlike its unwelcoming front, the inside of the Engineering and Logistics office turned out to be a spacious and neatly organized room filled with electronic equipment. Battered but well-maintained computers jostled for space with printers and scanners upon the length of desks set against the wall, next to which stood an ancient copying machine. The far half of the room was dominated by rows of metal shelves and cabinets, filled with tools, cameras, machine parts, and other equipment Nicholas could not identify. The only odd piece of item that stood out from the collection was a battered punching bag that hung from the ceiling by an iron hook.

"First time in Engineering, right?" the young man said. "This is where we keep most of the high-end equipment we use for our day-to-day operations. We can't keep them upstairs, out in the open. I can't trust the average gangers not to tamper with them, and it takes an arm and a leg to replace each one that gets broken."

"Not that they do want to mess with the equipment," he growled. "Arceus knows what I would do to anyone who even so much as sticks a gum in the porthole…" As almost an afterthought, the young man idly jabbed at the punching bag as he passed by, which—to Nicholas' amazement—swung violently just from a single blow. It was no longer a mystery as to how his host had come by his muscles.

"Anyway…to introduce myself, I am Xavier Carter James, or CJ for short," the giant said as he turned back to face Nicholas. "As Ibrahim might have told you, I am in charge of the more technical aspects of running the Silver Wings, fixing gadgets, crunching data, analyzing battle recordings, or maintaining the motor pool in the garage upstairs. I do other things, but that's not relevant to our discussion here, I think."

Trudging over to the computers, CJ snatched up few sheets of paper lying on the printer tray. As he spread them out on the table before him, Nicholas saw that the papers showed a somewhat crude map of the city when put together side by side. A red line zigzagging through the blocks marked down a path through the cityscape. The names of adjoining streets were scrawled in miniscule letters.

"Let's get straight to business, shall we?" CJ said as his thick finger jabbed down the spot on the map where the red line started. "This map here shows the layout of the Undercity, or at least the areas that are relevant. The spot I'm pointing at indicates the position of our headquarters, where you will start off your trip. Basically, you'll want to follow this path until it ends here," CJ traced his finger to the edge of the map where the red line ended. "You'll find the entrance to the sewer lines that will take you up to the factory level proper above us. After that, you'll have to manage by yourself. Are you following me so far?"

"Yes."

"Good, cause I'm not going to repeat this twice. You'll want to stick to this path no matter what. I'm sure Ibrahim has told you what would happen if you don't. For now, this path will only take you through the territories of the gangs we're on friendly terms with. If anyone there stops you to ask your business, just show him this."

Reaching into his pockets, CJ handed out to Nicholas a small laminated piece of black paper with a stylized picture of a silver wing printed on it.

"This pass here will prove that you're our guest and guarantee your safe passage through territories belonging to the other gangs. Just make sure to throw it away if the Reapers get at you. I don't think they will look kindly on someone who's been with us."

Nicholas stared at the pass in his hand, and then at the map on the table. Given how long a single city block was, the entire trip was clearly going to be a long walk out. A mental image of him running down the street with dozens of Reapers at his tail flashed across his eyes.

"I don't suppose…there's another route that's somewhat safer?" he mumbled. "Any route that is…shorter?"

CJ glared at him, all pretense of civility quickly slipping from his face. His cool demeanor was suddenly replaced with utter scorn.

"Do you have any idea," he began, his voice rumbling like an angry thunderstorm, "how lucky you are to be able to use this route at all? Do you even know how fortunate you are that we're offering you a way out of this hellhole? And what, you think you can just barge in here and demand that we do one better? Who the hell do you think you are, being an ungrateful wretch, huh?"

Nicholas quailed under CJ's wrathful tirade.

"I know who you are," CJ continued, his anger unabated. "I know how you faced that demon Grim Reaper and lived to tell the tale. So you think that little stunt you've pulled off deserves a special treatment?! Screw you and your achievement! Tell that to dozens of gutter runners out there who has to fight maniacs like the Reapers every single day! Tell that to brave girls who are younger than you running the gauntlet of fire just to bring home tidbits to feed their friends! I don't know how the rules were up in the spires. But here, if I tell you to suck it up and put up with the risks, you suck it up and put up with the risks!"

Nicholas tried his best not to tremble under CJ's stern gaze. Even his ordeal with the Grim Reaper seemed to pale next to being subject to CJ's righteous wrath. The guilt and fear that had piled on the past few weeks seemed to come to fore at once.

"But I'm scared," Nicholas half-whispered, half-squeaked.

"And so was I, at one point," CJ replied. "Everybody in this joint was afraid. Do you think they are not scared now? But unlike you, they strike back against their fears. They train, they learn, and they fight tooth and nail until they became strong enough to look terror in the eye and spit in its face. Sure, many die, but at least they die with weapons in their hands and without piss in their pants. And they sure didn't mope around for weeks after their ordeal until they just decided to quit!"

The technician drifted from the table and slowly walked towards a shelf across the room, his eyes staring into what appeared to be a small framed picture perched on it.

"I've seen kids who started off weaker than you grow up to become the best of us, gangers who have inspired many more to become just like them. Here in the Undercity, we don't hide behind comfort and wealth when trouble comes knocking," CJ paused, as if momentarily lost in thought. "We grab it by its throat and choke it until it learns not to mess with us."

Dead silence fell across the room. Nicholas stood for what felt like an eternity, struggling with a cocktail of shame, shock, and bewilderment whirling inside him until CJ half-turned towards him.

"I've read you the directions, and you know what you're supposed to do. So get yourself and your sniveling mouth out of my sight. This place is no longer your home."

Nicholas fled, faster than he had ever done before.

* * *

><p>In the perpetual dusk of the Undercity, the old red-brick building that was the headquarters of the Silver Wings looked uglier than ever. Chipped bricks and foggy windows made the place seem like a prison rather than a shelter. Still, all the days spent cleaning its many corridors and rooms had made this building, at one point, endearing to Nicholas. But as he stepped out of its doors into the streets for the last time, the headquarters now just seemed to be mocking him for his weakness, for his naïve belief that he was worthy enough to have found a second home amongst the gangers. As in the beginning, Nicholas found himself all alone, exiled and stewing in his misery.<p>

_The cycle continues_, Nicholas thought bitterly.

He had not met with Sammy or Amber to say his farewells. Facing Ibrahim and his lieutenants had been unbearable enough. Despite their friendship, Nicholas didn't think he could stand to see their faces crumple into surprise, sadness, or Arceus-forbid, scorn. Better to just disappear quietly than to make his departure any more painful than it already was. So, Nicholas had waited until Sammy and Amber had left for their respective daily assignments. Amber had even smiled and waved at him as she and her squad took off in their truck to retrieve the food rations from the public commissary. Nicholas had waved back, hating himself every second for having to leave his friends in the cold. But what choice did he have…?

The rest of the silver wings he had little connection to, and so Nicholas had let them go. _As for Garret and his lackeys…_ Giratina take them. They could go to hell for all he cared.

With heavy heart, Nicholas finally tore himself away from the building and began trudging down the road. If he didn't run into any trouble, he would be able to reach Thief's Bounty by noon and make it to the sewer entrance in a few hours after that. _And then what?_ The thought leapt unbidden into Nicholas's mind. _Should he seek refuge, or try to leave the city as he had intended? Could he risk going for one of the train stations or one of the massive gates ringing the city walls? Could he evade the tight security at the wall without being caught? Even if he could, where could he go? _The plans all made sense to him, at least in theory… But Nicolas somehow doubted that the same luck that led him down to the Undercity in the first place would remain with him for this journey he was making.

Caught up in his thought, Nicholas walked down nearly three whole blocks before he suddenly realized he was being followed. Light, scurrying footsteps had matched his steady, heavier footsteps for a long while now without him ever noticing. Nicholas turned and there, standing few paces behind him without even trying to hide, was a familiar little girl with her arms tightly wrapped around a Zigzagoon.

"Lana…what are you doing here?"

The young girl boldly stared back with those wide, solemn eyes of hers. In the past few weeks, Nicholas had seen no sign of her ever coming near the headquarters. He had thought their near brush with death had driven her off for good.

"You're leaving," Lana said in her flat monotone voice, as if she was simply stating a fact.

Nicholas looked down at his feet, suddenly unable to meet Lana's gaze. His cheeks were burning hot like cinders.

"Yeah…yeah I am," Nicholas stammered. Was she about to condemn him for his cowardice? For all he knew, even Lana had every right to do so.

"Why?"

"Because…_because…,_" Nicholas gulped and fished for the right words as his tongue dried up in his mouth. "I…want to live. I'm-I'm so sorry Lana. This isn't how I imagined leaving this place."

"That's too bad…," Lana's stoic face fell slightly. "I liked you. You were one of the good ones."

"You don't want to be friends with someone like me, Lana. I'm no good," Nicholas said dejectedly. "I'm not a good role model for you. I don't have what it takes to make it down here. I'm not strong enough."

"Yes, you are," Lana replied softly, "You just don't really see it. Others can't see it, but I do."

Lana's surprising words rang hollow to Nicholas, but he tried not to betray his disbelief. "Thanks," he managed to respond. "I'll remember that on my way out."

"I'll walk with you," Lana said. "If you won't stay, then at least let me see you off."

"But you can't," Nicholas blanched, "It's going to take a while for me to get to where I am going. Besides, it'll be too dangerous—"

"Until the end of the Heights then. I can turn back there while you go on your way."

Nicholas thought to protest at first, but a look in Lana's eyes told him she wouldn't be swayed. So instead, he found himself nodding in agreement.

"Well…..okay. But don't expect pleasant company. I'm sorry but…I don't really feel much like talking."

"Oh, that's quite alright," Lana grinned, "I'm not really into talking much either."

* * *

><p>It was perhaps the most uncomfortable walk Nicholas ever had to endure in his entire life. He didn't know which was worse, having to make this perilous walk of shame or having someone see him do it. This was supposed to be a private moment with no one to accompany him but his own failures. Perhaps this was the whole purpose of being shown an extended way out of the Undercity: a prolonged expulsion that etched this moment in a person's memory forever so that even after years, his decision to quit would continue to unman him.<p>

Lana, true to her word, had been quiet so far. Her light steps had been accompanying his own for several blocks now, her doll-like face comfortably buried in the bushy fur of her Zigzagoon. From the sleepy expression plastered on the raccoon Pokémon's inane face, the critter was enjoying her attention immensely. Nicholas had no siblings to call his own. His father had never remarried after his mother's death despite constant urging from his servants, leaving his son with very little option for playmates. And so Nicholas knew very little social life other than the time spent with closest acquaintances of his family. His frail health didn't help the matter one bit, either. The only semi-constant presence in his childhood was his cousin, another only child like himself. Looking at Lana, Nicholas just realized what comfort it might have been to have a younger sister like her growing up.

Nicholas admitted to himself that it had been a good decision to allow Lana to escort him. Despite the lack of verbal exchanges between them, even her presence was doing wonders to take his mind off all the anxieties. After all, a single note of approval was infinitely preferable to a torrent of criticisms directed towards him. Perhaps it hadn't been Lana's first time accompanying someone who chose to leave the Silver Wings. Nicholas could imagine many like him treading the same path he walked now, taking solace from one person who didn't think they were waste of space and air to other callous souls.

Checking the street signs, Nicholas abruptly realized the Palmyrian Heights had come to an end. Before him lay an open street that separated the territory of the Silver Wings from those of other gangers. A step outside would mean casting himself off from the protection he had been enjoying for the past month or so.

Nicholas turned towards Lana, who was looking up at him expectantly.

"Well…this is the end of the block. I guess this is it then."

Lana gazed at him in silence, her wide eyes not even blinking once. Cradled in her tight grasp, the Zigzagoon squirmed and yawned.

"Thanks for the company. I…actually think I needed that more than—"

"Thanks for saving my life," Lana suddenly piped up. "You know, from that terrible monster-man? I never said thank you after, did I? My daddy would've been real sad if I was gone too."

"Oh, well….that," Nicholas shifted on his feet uneasily. "Look, honestly, it was all my fault for getting you into danger, Lana! If I had gone to look myself alone, you probably didn't have to be so scared. Back there, I was just trying to make up for my mistakes, that's all!"

"It wasn't your fault," Lana replied, a small smile playing around her mouth. "You didn't know what was going on. And the way you tried to protect me….no one's done that for me. Ever."

Nicholas didn't know what to say then.

"You are my hero, Nick," Lana said. "Don't forget that! I am here today because of you!"

_A hero? _Was this a joke? For Nicholas, this couldn't be further from the truth. A hero….didn't quit. He didn't run away from danger like he did. Gangers like Niels or Ibrahim were heroes, not a pasty shrimp from the spires who never had to fight for anything his whole life. Still, he didn't show any sign of what he was thinking. Instead, he smiled weakly and nodded.

"Thank you. I'll—I'll try to live up to it if I can," he said. "Well then….goodbye. Thank you so much for…for….all this."

"Goodbye," Lana whispered, her eyes abruptly starting to waver and water. Feeling awkward, Nicholas turned away to make a quick departure. He had a feeling that the longer it took to leave, the harder it would be for everyone to deal with the losses.

His eyes took in a final look at the Heights as Nicholas took his first step away. It would be the last time he would lay his eyes on this place. Old tenements, grubby shops, rusted carts, smoky chimneys….soon to be a memory. A decrepit playground where he and Lana had played marbles. Distant residents in raggedy clothes trudging about to their businesses. A low run-down building with a pile of rubble and trash strewn in front. Miserable hell below an even more miserable heaven. The sooner he left it the better, before more of its unbearable misery ate him away.

An overturned garbage can. A broken payphone with its receiver yanked out. A pack of Rattatas scampering into a sewer grate. _A flash of silver, stylized in the shape of…._

Nicholas froze. He stared.

"What's wrong?" Lana's curious voice drifted to him as if it was coming from someplace far away. Nicholas didn't move, but continued to stare at the building strewn with rubble and trash. Even amidst the mess, the silvery shape stood out. He shook his head in case he was mistaken, only to have his suspicions confirmed again and again.

_Impossible….was this real? There was no way, unless—_

Nicholas broke into a run across the block and skidded to a halt in front of the building. Neglected even by the standard of the Undercity, the structure's drab and crumbling concrete front was a sorry sight. He was oddly reminded of a forgotten sand castle on the beach, slowly collapsing under the encroaching tide. Old yellow and black chevron tapes barred the entrance from any interlopers. The front windows however were surprisingly intact, albeit dusty from long period of disuse. For all that, his eyes were locked on the object he had seen from the distance, a fabric of a sort lying on the ground, adorned with an oddly familiar silvery glint.

Up close, Nicholas saw the object to be an old banner that had probably hung across the edifice of this building long ago, before it was cut loose and fluttered down to the pavement. Crumpled and partially covered in concrete dust and rubble, much of the contents written on it were hidden from sight. But it was what he could see that spurred Nicholas into action. He realized that the odds were improbable, but it was undeniable that what he saw was indeed what he thought it was. Nicholas quickly crouched down and swiped away the last of the debris away from the banner with trembling fingers.

And there, painted in tarnished silver paint against a tattered, soot-stained nylon sheet, was a large eight-pointed star. _A silver eight-pointed star. The Star of the Northern Sky, the symbol of his father. The proud sigil of the House Caverell._

Numb with shock, Nicholas almost didn't see the large block letters that were printed across the banner next to the symbol. Stylized in elaborate curling fonts, the banner proudly identified the building's former function as '**The Marianne Caverell Foundation for Urban Development and Education, Palmyrian Heights Chapter**.**' **Nicholas' almost cried out in wonder. This was his father's old charity, the same charity the Silver Wing gangers were referring to earlier. _He had even named the foundation after his late mother, too! _He realized that the dilapidated building he was standing in front of once used to be one of the charity's many depots.

His heart beating fast, Nicholas scrambled to his feet and pressed his face against the dusty window to have a look inside. He knew not why—perhaps he was desperate to catch a glimpse of anything that linked him back to his old life in the spires, or any remainders of his father's dreams for the city. He didn't have to wait long to be disappointed, however. Long gone were the days when the depot had been fully furnished and occupied by busy workers and activists. Clumps of dust and plaster debris were the only things littering the dirty carpeting in the desolate room, though cleaner patches showed where heavier furniture had once set. Wall sockets had been yanked clean from the drywall, exposing frayed cables that already had been scavenged for its copper bits. Further down the room, Nicholas saw that someone had broken in through a smashed window and painted a garish graffiti on the wall with red spray paint. The discarded paint can lay on the forgotten amidst cobwebs like a lone metal sentinel.

A faded poster was thumb tacked on the far wall, its edges yellowing and curling with age. A cheerful face of a young female volunteer worker with brown ringlets and endearing dimples smiled from beneath the sheet of dust, her arms wrapped around a couple of grubby but grinning Undercity urchins. _Change you can be a part of, _the slogan on the poster read. _Volunteer at the FUDE chapter nearest to you today! _Against the sorry state of the depot, the sheet optimism of the poster almost sounded like a poor joke. _Would_ _that volunteer have known how this charity was going to turn out?_ Nicholas wondered. _Did she even believe in the cause, or was she just a poster child for a venture that was doomed to fail? _

"The depot," Lana whispered. "Oh, I miss this place."

Nicholas looked down to see the little girl next to him, her face pressed against the window as eagerly as he. The expression on her face was dreamy and full of wonder, as if she was staring into a candy store or a circus.

"You were here?" Nicholas asked, "You know…when this place was still up and running?"

"I can never forget it," Lana whispered. "I was here on the first day, when that nice man from above cut the ribbons. Then he and a bunch of nice brothers and sisters gave out candies and played tetherball with us. We sang songs and drew pictures with real crayons! It was the best day I've ever had!"

_Father, _Nicholas realized with a start. _Lana had actually seen father before!_

"They say that the nice man lives in a great house above the clouds under the shining sun," Lana added, her eyes sparkling. "Can you imagine what clouds look like? Someone told me they look like cotton candies. Giant, fluffy, white cotton candies…"

"What else did they do here?" Nicholas pressed. "What else did you do?"

"Oh a lot of things," Lana replied, her excitement growing palpable every minute. "They gave out free food and clothes to a lot of our friends. Helped many people fix their homes, find jobs here and…and they taught me how to read and write!"

"Read?"

"Yeah! The nice brothers and sisters who worked at the depot held classes. They taught me and other kids from the block! The ABCs, the commas, the periods… I got so good I could read a whole picture book by the end of the month! They gave me a shiny medal and a pretty picture book for being the best reader in class! We had to pawn the medal off for scrap last month…but I got to keep the book!"

Lana beamed with pride, her usual gravitas evaporating like morning mist.

"And when I came back home that night, I asked daddy if I could read to him before we went to bed. After I read the whole book aloud….daddy hugged me and said how much he loved me! Ever since then, I try to read to him whenever I can every night."

Nicholas could feel a hard lump forming at his throat. He could hardly believe this carcass of a building in front of him was the same place of wonder Lana was telling him about.

"So you really did love the foundation, huh?" Nicholas said softly. "They were doing something good here after all."

"Oh, not just me," Lana replied. "Plenty of others loved that charity too! Free food, some place to wait 'til moms came back from work, really fun things they taught us…. I know a lot of my friends really liked going there! Mrs. Chan from next door said the depots were the best thing to happen to the Undercity since the police decided to leave us alone!"

There was no doubt about it. Despite what the lieutenants had said, the charity clearly mattered for many people down here. The foundation was not just a misguided attempt by ignorant nobles. Gangs notwithstanding, there were plenty who sought a way out—or even a distraction from—this harsh existence they were eking out. From what Lana had told him, the volunteers were even successful in engaging many of the younger children and teaching them a new way to live other than through the endemic gang culture. During the short time that the foundation reached out to the neighborhood, its success had been tangible.

Nicholas saw the desolate building no longer. In his mind, the depot was intact and flourishing once more, brimming with volunteers and Undercity residents working together to improve their lives. He could imagine children like Lana chattering noisily as their mouths clumsily sounded out the alphabets and arithmetic formulas written on glistening whiteboards. Those children, in turn, would grow up to utilize what they have learned to worthier endeavors, inspiring more and more to seek out the depots. Who knew how much good the charity might have accomplished had it been left standing? The possibilities were endless. The resources offered to the Undercity could have single-handedly overturned its misery and depravity.

But those days were gone now. Forever. What dreams Hollis Caverell had for the Undercity died on that tragic night along with him. Even as the brutal gang culture of the Undercity tore at the Foundation from below, the schemes of Uncle Frederick had thoroughly destroyed his father's vision from above. For many Undercity children like Lana, the Foundation ended up being nothing more than a fleeting glimpse of a life they would never have. The books, candies, education, songs…..all were fragments from a wonderful dream that once snatched away, would eventually nurture despair and hatred for the people above who had cruelly led them on. Unrequited hope, not poverty, was a prelude to disappointment and bitterness. Nicholas himself knew this to be painfully true.

And this…..was how his family would be remembered for all eternity. They were the purveyors of impossible dreams and dabblers in naïve ventures, whose failures labeled them as laughingstocks of all Shadowgrave City. To the new generation of Undercity youths, the Foundation—named after his late mother no less—will become a fodder for resentment and contempt towards the spire-nobles. And to all those nobles in their refuge high above…..what lesson did this serve? That it was a terrible idea to invest in the Undercity? That it wasn't like them to care for those vermin crawling below their feet? Or was this supposed to be a cautionary tale for those wanting to change the status quo? For all of his uncle's ruthless business acumen, the House of Caverell would never recover from this dishonorable stigma placed on it. Nor could it: the honor of the Caverell family had died along with his father.

The reality came crashing down on Nicholas like a tidal wave. In that brief moment, the terrors he had endured in the past weeks were forgotten, leaving him alone with all the grief, shame, and anger over everything he had lost. The memory of his father and his loyal servants burst forth like searing lava from the recesses of his mind. _They were gone. Everyone he had loved, his home, and even his family's honor. They had all been taken away from him, by a man who only sought to fill his own ambitions. For what? For daring to believe that they could make a difference to the world around them. And he….was left all alone, cast from his sanctuary into the gutters to be torn apart by the very people his family had been trying to help. _

For the first time since his flight from the spires, Nicholas fell to his knees and wept. Tears poured down his cheeks, hot and stinging, and formed dark puddles at his feet. Strangled sobs escaped from his mouth, echoing into the vaulted ceilings high above. Each fresh wave of shuddering sob was a painful reminder of his hopeless plight, enough to send him into renewed paroxysm of anguished cries. Like a disconsolate man crumpled beside the lifeless body of his beloved, Nicholas wept for his losses. He wept for the fall of the House Caverell.

Nicholas suddenly felt a small hand cautiously caressing his shoulder, and raised his head to see Lana's anxious face peering into his own. What an ugly sight he must be to the girl, his reddened eyes and nose all covered with a vile mixture of tears, saliva, and phlegm. Yet, there was little fear to be found on Lana's face. With the tenderness and assurance of a mother hen, the girls instead knelt down and brought him into a tight hug. The unexpected move caught Nicholas by surprise, momentarily breaking him from his sorrow.

"It's okay. It's alright. Everything's going to be fine," Lana gently whispered into his ear, "The nice brothers and sisters will be back with more candies and books! Then we can have the whole day, no, a whole week to have all the fun!"

In spite himself, Nicholas almost laughed aloud. How naïve she was. If only she knew everything that had happened to him! If only she knew about the schemes that had destroyed the foundation forever! If she only knew how the last of the noble Caverells had been wiped clean from the face of the earth….

…_.But only that it wasn't true, was it?_

The truth when it came to him struck him like a lightning bolt. Or maybe it had been there all along, just waiting for him to pick up the cue. The house of Caverell did not die with his father, nor did it die with the fall of his charity. What truly defined the family weren't their manor or their assets, nor their fine clothes or fancy sigils. It was their belief in a better future and faith in the goodness of men that defined them—the same ideal that Nicholas still believed in and held dear despite everything that had happened to him.

He, Nicholas, was the last of the Caverells.

And if he left this city altogether or allowed himself to be caught and disposed of….then that would be the real end of his father's legacy, of the foundation, or any chance of reforming this depraved city. Without him, there would be no one left here to someday revive the hopes for millions of people like Lana who deserved better than what they had now. Nicholas stared at the ground hard, even as the rest of his tears splattered against the concrete. His mind was no longer in a fit of despair, but replaced by a strange calm that portended something greater. He saw a choice to be made in the crossroads he was standing on. He could go on his way and ensure that his father's—and his by extension—vision truly died. Or he could deny that fate and instead try to make it in this wretched place somehow. As long as someone in Shadowgrave City believed in it, an ideal would remain alive, wouldn't it? And perhaps if he grew stronger, he could look for an opportunity to make one difference at a time, couldn't he?

And for that to happen in real life….

"I have to go back," Nicholas muttered, and repeated it again loudly. "I am going back to the Silver Wings!"

Lana gasped, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Really?! You mean it?"

"I do," the teenager replied as he slowly dragged himself to his feet. "If I run away now, I'll just end up running away again sooner or later. It's better to face my fears right here and master it, so I won't be so overwhelmed later."

"Besides," he added with a crooked grin. "I sure would like to see the depot come back someday. Would be a shame if I missed out on all those songs and candies, no?"

Lana squealed happily and threw her one arm around Nicholas. Wiping his face with a swipe of his sleeve, Nicholas gently petted her shoulder and cast his eyes upon the discarded banner. Even among the dirt and rubbish, the Silver Star seemed to shine as brightly as ever.

Was he still afraid? Of course he was. That much hasn't changed. But Nicholas realized that from the moment he discovered his role in the greater scheme of things, abandoning Shadowgrave has never been an option for him. He may have lost everything, but perhaps his presence down here in the Undercity could mean serving a greater purpose someday. Not today or tomorrow, but surely someday long into the future. It would take him a long while to gain the strength that he needed. He would earn many more scars and experience more painful losses. But with a purpose this great, all the fears and concerns seemed insignificant.

And so, right there in front of the ruins of the charity, Nicholas Caverell made a promise he would hold onto for the rest of his life.

* * *

><p>It took Nicholas less than twenty minutes to step back into the musty lobby of the Silver Wing headquarters, his cheeks flushed and out of breath. He had come rushing back to the block, having parted ways with Lana in front of the building. The young girl had wished him good luck, her ace brimming with excitement and pride; even now, her curious face bobbed in and out of the glass window, eager to catch a glimpse of events to come.<p>

Nicholas had no idea how he could salvage his standing with the Silver Wings. C.J.'s cold rebuff earlier was still fresh on his mind, as was the dismissive farewell with the other lieutenants. He had no other leverage or incentives to make them reconsider. Nicholas marveled just how easily he had burnt all the bridges behind him. But there was no other way to learn the strength and skills he needed out here. And if the only way meant groveling at the Silver Wings' feet, then so be it. The stakes were greater than it had been before.

Before Nicholas could move, he suddenly heard distinct sound of someone stomping loudly up the hallway ahead of him to the left. Like a behemoth emerging from the depths, the huge form of C.J. Carter forcefully strode into the open. It was evident from his body language that the lieutenant was in quite a hurry. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by something akin to a harried frown, accentuated by the tautness in his jaws.

The giant ganger stopped and grimaced upon seeing Nicholas.

"What in hell….? I thought I told you to leave this place," he rumbled. "Did you just come back here to whine some more? Perhaps you would like to request a chaperone?"

Nicholas swallowed hard. "I…..I had made a big mistake. I don't want to leave this place."

C.J.'s frown grew even deeper. "What?!"

"I shouldn't have quit like I had. I should've faced my demons head on! I want to learn how to make it out here, grow stronger or die trying! Please….give me a second chance!"

C.J. glared at Nicholas briefly before snorting in derision.

"And you thought we would change our minds at your whim? What the hell made you think we would have you back, especially after you've turned your tail once already? The only thing I'm willing to spare is ten seconds to get your skinny ass out of here before I do it myself."

"Let me talk to Ibrahim," Nicholas said breathlessly. "Or Magda or Chase—"

"They're not here," C.J. snapped. "They've already led their squads out for daily missions hours ago, to do what is expected of them so all of us can eat for another night. And I know they'll back me up on my decision on this. So stop wasting my time and get out when I tell you to! As the sole remaining lieutenant in charge, I have a more urgent business to take care of."

With that, the ganger turned away and began stomping away once more down the opposite hallway. Nicholas looked on helplessly, at loss for words. The prospect of salvaging his situation was quickly slipping away.

"You're right!" Nicholas blurted out in desperation. "I am spoiled! I am weak! I am a coward! And I don't know a single shit about this hellhole and I probably won't! For all you know I'll probably die out here in less than a week!"

C.J. paused at midstride, and slowly turned back.

"At least you know where you stand," he rumbled. "Big deal!"

"But you said you knew people weaker than I who became the best gangers you'd ever seen! And I'm sure everyone around here didn't even spare them a glance in the beginning, until they proved them otherwise! Don't tell me you weren't surprised by what they've shown you!"

"So what's your point?"

"If you won't accept me back into the gang right now, fine. Have it your way," Nicholas pleaded. "But before you make up your mind, just give me a chance to prove myself worthy again! Let me try at least once, or die in the attempt! Whatever you need done, I'll do it. Whoever you need beaten, I'll do it! If I am to die, at least let me go out with dignity! You can grant me that at least, can't you?"

For what felt like eternity, C.J. stood still, his stern gaze fixed on Nicholas. Nicholas could almost see the ganger's mind racing, sizing up the possibilities before him. Before he could do anything, the lieutenant suddenly closed the distance between them in few strides and seized him painfully by the shoulders.

"Look at me. Look at me!" C.J. shouted as he lowered his head to Nicholas's level. Nicholas was startled by the sheer intensity burning in those green eyes. "Did you mean what you just said? Can you promise you will never to go back on those words and prove yourself a coward the second time?"

"Y-Yes!" Nicholas gasped.

"Swear to me, and swear to the Silver Wings!"

"I swear to never go back on my words!"

C.J. slowly let go of his shoulders and straightened up. The ardor in his eyes had cooled a little, replaced by cold scrutiny typical of a master engineer.

"If I had my way, I would not even reconsider your ridiculous plea, nor would any of my colleagues," the ganger said, "Lucky for you, we happen to have a situation on our hands right now that forces me to be more….lenient. Priorities being what they are, I am forced to look for the means wherever I can."

"What are you talking about?" Nicholas asked.

"Alright, Here's the deal," C.J. said. "We have a major crisis underway that needs to be dealt with. Unfortunately, with most of the Silver Wing members away on their missions, we are currently a little short on manpower. Normally, I would round up the most capable rank-and-file around the neighborhood, but we simply don't have enough time to do that. So…if you agree to volunteer for this mission I'm putting together, I will perhaps….put in a good word on your behalf, even get the other lieutenants to reconsider."

Nicholas' heart leapt as he found his hope renewed. "Really? Will you do this for me?"

"I never lie. I will support your case before the rest if you see this one through," the lieutenant said flatly. "And that's why I'm going to tell you that this mission is going to be, without a doubt, highly dangerous. The odds are that you won't even get to survive to make it back. But that's what you wanted, wasn't it? A chance to go out with some dignity?"

Nicholas momentarily felt his fear rear its head once more, crying out at him to refuse the offer. A more cautious part of him urged him that this was not worth it, that it was far better to live in ignominy than to die with some dubious honor. The image of the ruined depot flashed before his eyes, however, and Nicholas forcefully stamped down any misgivings. This was no longer about him. He had made a promise that more precious than anything he had ever owned.

"Those were my words," he whispered. "I'm willing do whatever it takes."

"Good," C.J. said, "Then follow me. I'll explain the details in the briefing room once I've gathered everyone remaining here." Without further word, the lieutenant set off towards the corridor in a brisk pace. It took an effort on Nicholas' part even to keep up with his gigantic stride.

"Wait, so what's really going on here?" Nicholas asked as he jogged after C.J.'s broad retreating back. "What is this crisis you are talking about?"

C.J.'s response rang back to him like a cold wind blasting through a dark cave.

"Mother of all screw-ups, that's what! Fail now…and it could possibly mean a death sentence for this whole gang!"

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R! <strong>

**Note: Anyone interested in becoming my beta reader? **


	8. Baptism by Fire - Part 1

**Baptism by Fire — Part One**

* * *

><p>Despite its name, nobody really used the briefing room for briefings. Announcements were usually made over breakfast in the dining hall, and any large-scale meetings were held in the courtyard. Rather, the "briefing room" was an informal hangout where small groups could meet and relax without having to observe the gang decorum. Old rickety chairs were liberally strewn across the room. Its corners were dominated by a sturdy foosball table, a broken vending machine, and a battered white screen used on movie nights. Nicholas was intimately familiar with the place, having scrubbed and swept every inch of it for weeks. Even after a thorough cleanup, the floors always smelled like buttered popcorn and cigarette butts. Tension was the last thing he was expecting to find here.<p>

Until today.

Seated on one of the chairs, Nicholas looked on as C.J. fiddled with a machine sitting on top of a low table. Roughly the size of a large cushion, the chrome-and-plastic device was beginning to hum softly with power. Further push of a few buttons set a green light blinking.

"What in hell's going on, you reckon?" a voice softly spoke up to Nicholas' right.

Aside from Nicholas, C.J. had managed to gather four other teenagers who were remaining behind at the headquarters. Ever since the Grim Reaper's intrusion, one of the countermeasures Ibrahim had put in place was to maintain a small number of Silver Wing gangers to guard the premises and alert him of any urgent developments. Nicholas did not know any of them. All four, though, had that tight and hungry look typical of the Undercity youths.

"Dunno," a heavy-set teenage boy with a shaved head and golden earrings shrugged. He half-turned to look at his friend who had spoken up—a lean red-headed and golden-eyed teenager with a wolfish grin. "I know just as much as you, Liam."

"Me neither," said another teenager next to him, an awkwardly gangly boy with limpid brown hair and a prominent nose. "I just got back from my patrol five minutes ago. I have no freaking idea what we're up to."

"No kidding," Liam drawled sarcastically, "Since when did you have anything original inside that pea-sized brain of yours? I'm amazed you still remember your own name."

"Well, at least I remember what I was doing with your mom last night!" the gangly boy retorted.

"Aw, snap!" the heavy-set teen chortled.

"Will you morons give it a rest?" the last member of the group—a blonde girl with a wavy perm and a red head scarf—hissed. "You guys are acting like a bunch of babies!"

"Sorry," the boys collectively mumbled.

"Anyhow, whatever's going on here has to be important," the girl continued. "C.J. wouldn't just turn on the holo-projector to show us the latest Lady Violet music video, would he?"

As on cue, the machine C.J. had been tinkering with began to whirl loudly as a burst of light spilled forth from the lens set on top of it. A large 3-D shape slowly solidified midair, the static greatly distorting the image it was supposed to show. C.J. scowled, and promptly slapped his meaty hand onto the side of the projector. The image flickered once or twice before properly focusing into what appeared to be a layout of a cityscape. The four gangers let out a mock cheer at the success.

_ Something about that layout seemed quite familiar…. _With a start, Nicholas realized the image was showing the map of an entire Undercity level. He thought he could recognize some of the streets from his earlier foray.

"Now that that's been taken care of," C.J. slowly started, "I'm sure ya'll are wondering why we've gathered here."

"Right as always, C.J.," Liam called out. "You mind telling us what this is all about?"

"I really wish I didn't have to say this," the lieutenant said grimly. "But we have an emergency situation at our hand. Code Red."

All merriment immediately drained from the teenagers' faces at the very mention of the phrase, replaced by alarm and tension. Nicholas stared, bewildered. _Code Red….? What could be so serious enough to spook them so much?_

"About five minutes ago," C.J. growled. "I've received an urgent distress call from the Gamma and Eta squads returning from the government commissary with our monthly food rations. Apparently, they'd been waylaid by a large group of gangers. The truck has been totaled, and now they are stranded in hostile territory fighting for their lives."

The blonde girl gasped loudly. The boys stared openmouthed, dumbstruck by the news.

"Is it the Reapers?!" Nicholas asked breathlessly.

C.J. shook his head. "Believe it or not, it's not the Reapers this time. The Paradise Square near 13th and Syracuse….It's the Midnight's Children."

The gangers collectively groaned, followed by a string of curses.

"Not those religious nut-heads…." the lanky boy muttered. "Of all the loony gangs infesting this whole damn place…."

"But I don't understand," Liam exclaimed. "Paradise Square is smack in the middle of The Midnight's Children territory! There's not a single reason for Gamma and Eta to be there in the first place! They were supposed to stick to their designated route like they've done before, weren't they?"

"Apparently, they've let their good sense go to their head. From what I've heard, some of the lads decided to save time by taking a shortcut through the Midnight's Children territory. They thought they could make it through before anyone caught onto them," C.J. replied coldly. "But I'm sure at some point some dunce made a dare that no idiot could refuse."

"I can't believe this bullshit!" Liam roared as he leapt to his feet in anger. "Have they really…? Are they—seriously has everyone lost their freaking minds?! What were they thinking, pulling this stunt with a cargo that important?! Who's the pinhead in charge of this disaster, anyway?"

"Roger Billings, squad leader of Gamma."

"I knew that prick was trouble from the beginning," the heavy-set teen growled. "Always boasting, trying to show off himself every chance he can. I'm surprised he managed to last this long." He followed his comment with a string of curses that would've made the most hardened killer blush.

"Does Ibrahim know?" the blonde girl asked. She too looked anxious, but was still displaying more restraint than her compatriots.

"Do you think I would be up here without letting him know first?" C.J. asked. "I've notified him already. Ibrahim's making his way back up to the Undercity with the Alpha and Beta squads as we speak. Not only that, he has issued a gang-wide command over the communications channel a minute ago. Any squads otherwise unoccupied are to immediately converge on the position of Gamma and Eta."

"Even so…," C.J. added grimly. "I would estimate that even the closest squad out on the field will take at least two hours to arrive. By then, both squads will have been overwhelmed and our food supply lost to the Midnight's Children."

Even before anyone else could speak up, a coin dropped in Nicholas' head. He instantly knew what was coming.

"That's where we come in, isn't it?" he asked softly. "Others may be too far off…but we aren't."

C.J. slowly nodded, his mouth drawn tightly across his jaw.

"Correct," the lieutenant said. "If we take the jeep out, we'll be able to make it to the borders of the Midnight's Children territory in less than twenty minutes. As of right now, we are the only group of Silver Wings available to provide immediate aid."

"You can't be serious!" the lanky teenager exclaimed. "There are only six of us here, against Arceus-knows how many feral savages crawling across Paradise Square! And one of us is merely an untested….guest." He quickly stole a glance at Nicholas. "No offense intended," he added sheepishly.

"None taken," Nicholas replied.

"Look, I know how ridiculous this sounds. I am aware of the odds of a single squad-sized group taking on an entire gang. Under any other normal circumstances, I wouldn't even try it, much less consider it. But here are the facts," C.J. said, "This is not about testing our strengths as gangers. Those beleaguered boys and girls out there? Those are our fellow Silver Wings, our comrades who have bled and fought alongside us for years! And I will be damned before I leave them to the mercy of some two-bit savages!

"But more importantly," C.J. added in a hushed tone. "Our comrades of Gamma and Eta are all that are standing between the Midnight's Children and our month's supply of rations. And what do you suppose will happen when they get their hands on the supplies? I'm not going to lie. If nothing is done, the whole Silver Wings will end up without anything to eat for a whole month. And you know how that story will end, don't you? Hunger will lead to dissension, dissension will lead to weakness, and if our enemies choose to take us on right then, we'll be finished. No more Silver Wings, and no more protection for the Heights."

Heavy silence settled in the room as the teenagers tried to absorb the difficult situation lain out before them. The blonde girl was chewing her lips incessantly. The heavy-set boy began wringing his thick fists over and over.

"So what do we do?"

Liam had straightened up in his seat, his golden eyes fixed directly at the lieutenant. Nicholas could almost see intensity raging inside the ganger, making him look like some predatory beast about to be let loose from its leash.

"We all know there is very little we can do if we took the Midnight's Children head on. Even I will be hard-pressed with all those numbers directed against us. And we don't have any resources available to extract our comrades at the moment, let alone all those food supplies. Even if we wanted to, we'll need to wait until other Silver Wing members arrive at the scene."

"So then what?"

C.J. turned to the holo-projector and pressed a few buttons. The 3-D image shifted and zoomed in again about three miles up north. A red dot began pulsating on a street position.

"As of right now, the Gamma and the Eta are pinned down in the open ground, right over here," he gestured at the red dot. "The Midnight's Children have them completely surrounded and directing heavy fire using their Pokémon. Luckily, our friends have erected a serviceable barricade out of food crates and the remains of the truck. The Midnight's Children have tried to storm it once, but have been repelled. Still, the picture is bleak….the Silver Wings are reporting casualties already, and many of their Pokémon have been badly hurt. If the assault continues on like this, then the barricade will eventually fall."

"As I have said, we cannot extract the squads and our supplies at the moment. But….what we can do is to make sure their defense holds out long enough for our main forces to arrive. In order for that to happen, they'll need extra batches of medical supplies and potions to patch themselves and their Pokémon up."

"Ah," the thick-set teen exclaimed, realization dawning on his features. "You're talking about infiltrating the Midnight's Children cordon!"

"Precisely. We may be few in number, but that will give a good chance to pass by our enemies' perimeters undetected. So, if we actually manage to slip past with medical supplies and join up with our besieged comrades….then we may be able to last just long enough for the rescue party to bail us out."

"The Midnight's Children have always been sloppy and undisciplined," the blonde girl muttered. "Their lines will be like a sieve. If we are careful, then this might actually work."

"Dunno…sounds a bit…reckless to me," the lanky boy chimed in, scratching his hair.

"If you have a better idea, then by all means let me know," C.J. snapped. "I assure you, this is the best plan we've got considering the time we have left. The Midnight's Children will be tightening their cordon by now. And I'm betting they have recalled every single one of their members out on the mission fields to reap this unexpected windfall. And if any of their Lieutenants or the Leader himself arrive on the scene before we do….you can bet we'll be feasting on rags and shoelaces before the week is out."

None of the gangers spoke up, their eyes solemnly fixed upon the lieutenant. Nicholas could feel his heart beating faster. Now that the mission parameters have been made clear, he could understand why C.J. had offered the deal in the first place. It was, without a doubt, going to be a hell of a mission. If what he had heard about the Undercity gang warfare was true, then he was going to be initiated into it from the sharpest end.

As if noticing the intense looks amongst the teenagers, C.J.'s expression softened a little bit.

"I won't lie to you," the lieutenant spoke. "This mission will cost us much, and I frankly can't guarantee everyone's safety. So I won't be forcing anyone to come with me on this one. If anyone wishes to stay out of this, I won't label him a coward. Right now, I'm merely asking this as a favor from a Silver Wing to a fellow Silver Wing."

The four gangers briefly shared a glance. When they looked back at C.J., Nicholas was astonished to see all of them grinning from ear to ear.

"Did you really need to ask?" Liam said. "You already know what we are going to say."

"We knew the risks when we all joined the gang," the blonde girl piped up. "This is more important than just a few of us. For the Silver Wings, we are more than ready to step up!"

"Eh, what the hell. I won't sit back while my friends are out there fighting! Count me in!" the lanky boy exclaimed.

"And besides," the thick-set teen drawled. "How in hell am I supposed to beat the crap out of Roger Billings if the Midnight's Children get to him first?"

C.J.'s mouth broke into a grim smile. "So ya'll are in then."

"'Till all hell freezes over," Liam intoned.

The Lieutenant's gaze quickly darted over to Nicholas. "And you, Nick? Now would be a good time to change your mind."

Nicholas felt all eyes fall on him. _This was it. If he broke here, then there would be no going back for him. But he had a greater cause to work for, and he simply couldn't give up here. _He slowly and deliberately drew in a deep breath.

"I'm in," Nicholas replied, forcing a smile he didn't really feel. "As a matter of fact, I think this mission has gotten more interesting already."

His reply drew a spatter of chuckle from the four gangers. C.J. remained impassive as always.

"Alright then….now that all the details have been settled, it's time to gear up! Everyone, prepare yourselves and gather at the garage within five minutes! By the grace of Arceus, we ride out for Paradise Square!"

* * *

><p>With a rusty creak, the metal door of the vast garage rose up ponderously. From its dim innards, a super-charged Navajo 5GS surged forth with a throaty roar. Battered and scratched, the utility jeep had seen rough days since its assembly in the Shadowgrave Automobile Plant up in the factory levels six years ago. Countless scorch marks and dents had accrued on the vehicle's hull like battle scars since its acquisition by the Silver Wings. Still, meticulous maintenance by the dedicated engineers of the gang meant the compact jeep still retained the powerful acceleration and handling it was renowned for. Turning the curb with a screech of tires, the Navajo hurtled down the road trailing black exhaust behind.<p>

C.J. with his usual confidence sat behind the wheels, his hands steering the vehicle as easily as he breathed. The rest of the gangers sat crowded in the rear compartment, trying their best to maintain their balance. The spring-suspension of the vehicle dampened the worst of the bumps and jolts, but the jeep still swayed fro and to like an antique sailing boat. It took Nicholas, sitting with his back against the side, supreme effort to clamp down the nauseating feeling in his stomach. Having to smell the gas exhaust and endure the roaring noise of the engine didn't help at all.

The four gangers sitting with him did not seem nervous in the least, despite the nature of their mission. With calmness that belied their brutality, the teenagers merely smoothed their Pokeballs strapped to their waists and checked their battle kits. In what little time they spent together, Nicholas had at last managed to learn their names. The heavy-set Barry Kowalski was lovingly wiping his wooden baseball bat with a grimy rag, while the lanky Milo Viggs studied a street map as he constantly rubbed his nose. Clara Morris, the blonde girl, was busy reorganizing her Pokeballs on her belt. She would occasionally lift one to her lips and mutter some encouraging words, as if her Pokémon could hear her from the inside.

Liam O'Grady merely stared out into the passing streets in silence. A sheathed machete hung comfortably from his belt along with his Pokeballs, its polished leather handle gleaming under the afternoon light.

"So how many Pokémon you got?" Barry suddenly spoke up. It took Nicholas a moment to realize the ganger was talking to him.

"Um," Nicholas looked down at his belt and gently patted the Pokeball that contained his loyal companion Shade. "Just the one. A Sneasel."

Barry and Clara stared at him, their eyebrows raised. Even Milo looked up from his map with a confused expression plastered on his face.

"Just one?" Clara asked, making no effort to hide her incredulity. "Seriously?"

"What are you, a Pokémon prodigy or something? One of those geniuses who can take on dozens with just one Pokémon?" Milo said, his nose scrunching with scrutiny.

"I….don't think so," Nicholas mumbled, embarrassed. "I've been practicing against the critters infesting the headquarters, though."

"You realize you're pretty much screwed right?" Barry deadpanned. "Especially if one of those maniacs comes at you with a fighting-type…. Do you even own a weapon of your own?"

"And yet, he still volunteered," a smooth voice cut in. "Reckless, but bold…. That in itself is something, I guess. But I've got to ask, why? Is this because you want to earn favor with the Silver Wings?"

Liam had turned around, joining in the conversation.

"I….want to be stronger," Nicholas slowly spoke. "I'm sick of being bullied around by people stronger than I. It's time I grew some spine."

Barry, Milo, and Clara stared at each other quizzically, but Liam merely shrugged.

"Well, if this is how you want to do it, then whatever. I've seen people pulling off some crazier stunts for crazier reasons. Best of luck to you."

"Ha!" Barry suddenly laughed. "At least this one has commitment. I'd like to see the likes of Roger sporting the same sort of guts he has!" Chuckling, the teen leaned forward and heartily slapped Nicholas against his shoulder. Despite the numbing pain arcing down his arm, Nicholas grinned.

"So who are these Midnight's Children anyway?" he asked.

At the mention of the name, all four Silver Wing gangers grimaced.

"A gang of scavenger-raiders operating out of the northern districts," Barry growled. "They specialize in hijacking freight shipments and stealing supplies from rival gangs. Like _rats!" _Emphasizing the last word, the teen hawked and spat a gobbet of phlegm out the side of the jeep.

"A bunch of painted religious nuts is what they are! Apparently, the Midnight's Children think this whole Undercity is some sacred goddess who watches over them. And for them, worship means purging this whole city of the unworthy—that is, everyone else," Clara chimed in.

"One on one, they are pathetic," Milo added. "Poor fighters and even worse trainers, the whole lot of them. Undisciplined, uncoordinated, and reckless. But what they lack in abilities—"

"They make up in sheer numbers and fanaticism," Liam finished. "Mark my words. They may not look much, but they are dangerous. I've seen them throw themselves at the toughest gangs without a single regard for safety. And as for their barbaric practices….well, let's just say it is far better to die at their hands than to be taken alive."

Nicholas shivered involuntarily. "And I thought the Reapers were the crazy ones…."

"Oh, Reapers are still a whole lot worse," Clara laughed. "At least the Midnight's Children don't discriminate when lashing out at someone. You won't see some evil intelligence directing their activities, like for the Reapers."

"Any advice?"

"Just watch your back and try to stay alive by whatever means necessary," Liam said. "And are you familiar with the standard rules of Pokémon battles?"

"Yes?"

"Well, forget everything you know about rules. They'll only get you killed."

Nicholas was just about to ask what Liam meant, when the jeep began to slow down. The roar of the engines whined away into silence as the vehicle pulled up against the sidewalk.

"This is it," C.J. called out from the front. "We're right at the edge of the Midnight's Children territory. This is as far as we can go without giving away our presence. From here on, we go on foot."

"Alright, who's in a mood for bashing some heads?" Barry growled as he clambered over the side of the jeep. His polished bat hung from his back by a strap.

"We'll have none of that," C.J. snapped as he turned off the ignition and climbed out of the driver's seat. A backpack and a fanny pack, filled to brim with medicines and potions, hung from his enormous frame like flimsy paper lanterns. "In case you've forgotten, this is a rescue mission. We'll need to be stealthy here, and contact with the enemy is to be avoided where possible. Understood?"

"Okay," Barry mumbled, glancing back at his weapon with a wistful look.

"Listen up then, gang. From here on, we'll be on full alert. Keep your voices down, no shenanigans, and use hand signs whenever you can."

"Which route do we take?" Clara asked.

"We'll go up the alleys and side roads for about four blocks to the north. We cannot afford to run into any civilians, either. The less eyes on us the better. There are plenty of abandoned warehouses further into this area, so the bulk of those buildings will hide up from view once we reach there."

C.J. gestured at the series of corrugated metal roofs peeking above the rest of the buildings in the distance.

"According to my research, one of the tenements adjacent to the warehouses has a fire escape leading up to the roofs. That will further allow us to make half of our trip traveling from rooftop to rooftop, all the way to Paradise Square."

"Which means we'll just have to watch ourselves for four blocks before having a free run to our destination," Liam added.

"That's exactly what we'll do," C.J. nodded. "Let's set off then, shall we? Milo, you have the sharpest ears and eyes out of all of us, so take point. Be on a lookout for any Midnight's Children on the prowl."

The lanky teen nodded, and immediately scurried to the front of the group.

"I'll follow right behind, with Clara and Barry coming up next. You two keep your eyes on the rooftops, make sure no one is looking down on us. Nick, you just stick right behind these two and keep up. Liam, you'll cover our backs. Let us know as soon as you hear anything or anyone tailing us. Understood?"

"Got it," the gangers chorused, and immediately formed a rough single file according to the arrangement.

"Then let's go. We don't have much time left."

Without further word, the Silver Wings took off into the labyrinth of alleyways.

* * *

><p>The first things Nicholas noticed were the warehouses. Built out of corrugated aluminum sheets, the giant buildings rose all around them, boxing the gangers in as they quietly but steadily moved forth. Streaks of rust covered the sides so much that the warehouses looked more like naturally-formed rocks than artificial constructions. Age and disrepair has left holes and dents in many of them. The unwelcome smell of corroding metal stung at his nose in a wave of reek.<p>

"So many of them," Nicholas quietly muttered to himself.

"Apparently, this whole place used to be a storage depot for shipping companies centuries ago," Liam whispered behind him. "Products churning out of factories would be piled up here before being shipped out by trucks and river boats."

"River boats...?" Nicholas frowned. "But….there aren't any rivers around Shadowgrave City for miles!"

"Like I said, this was centuries ago," the ganger replied. "Now, these buildings serve only one purpose: to house the Midnight's Children while they sleep at night. Rumor has it they have built torture chambers and meat lockers in them….for their victims, if you know what I mean."

"Stop scaring the kid, Liam," Clara hissed. "And shut your pie hole. You want to bring down the whole gang on us?"

Each of the warehouses was indeed quite sizeable. Supposing each of these structures could hold a hundred gangers... Nicholas shuddered. Even by Undercity gang standards, the sheer number of the Midnight's Children was staggering.

Fortunately, for all their infamous numbers the Midnight's Children were curiously absent from the area. It made sense, Nicholas thought, that like any other gangs, the majority of them had gone out into the Undercity to scrounge for resources and wreak general havoc. Thus far, he reckoned they had traveled for about two blocks without running into trouble. Milo led from the front, his feet gliding across the pavement with surprising dexterity and fluidity. The rest of the gangers barely made a noise with each step, even the hulking form of C.J. producing only the minimum noise. Though Nicholas thought he too was doing a decent job, the sound of his own footsteps irritatingly kept standing out above the rest.

The party had traveled further for another block when suddenly, Milo froze and quickly held up his hand. The rest of the gangers stopped where they stood. They had come to the end of an alleyway by now, rows of warehouses interrupted by a stretch of rundown tenement houses.

"What is it?" C.J. urgently whispered.

Wordlessly, Milo swept his hands out before him and gestured at the cluster of overflowing garbage bins in front. The Silver Wing gangers immediately scurried over and crouched behind the messy pile. Nicholas closely followed, his senses suddenly alert. He managed to level his gaze through a gap between the bins, just in time to see a gaggle of individuals emerging into view.

Without a doubt, the gangers before him had to be the most wretched and bizarre- looking bunch Nicholas had ever laid his eyes on. There were a dozen of them, sauntering up the street with easy confidence that came from their ownership of the territory. Emaciated to the point of looking malnourished, most were dressed in raggedy clothes made up of poorly stitched cloth strips and tanned leathers. Couple of them were dressed in long, dirty hooded robes that stretched from their wiry frames like loose skin. What truly galled Nicholas, however, were their faces. Blue and crimson war-paints rendered their faces into monstrous visages, augmented by plethora of tattoos and piercings. Those whose hair hadn't shaved their heads had fashioned their mane into outlandish Mohawks, dreadlocks, and top-knots festooned with beads and fetishes. Bloodshot eyes shone out from their painted faces like lamps as rusty tools of violence swung loosely from their hands.

"Midnight's Children," Liam growled next to him. "Looks like we've reached their cordon at last. That's got to be one of their patrols."

"Can we take them?" Barry whispered, tightening his grip on the baseball bat.

"Remain where you are," C.J. replied. "We wait until they pass, then we will sneak past. We can't let them know we are here."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a fresh commotion broke from the other end of the street. Another group of Midnight's Children strolled from an alleyway, their numbers at least twice as greater than the patrol group. Raucous laughter and shouts broke out as the gangers greeted each other. Compared to the patrol, the new arrivals looked better nourished and better armed. At the sight of them, C.J. cursed quietly.

"Not good."

"What's wrong?" Nicholas whispered.

"That ganger over there," the lieutenant muttered, nudging his chin towards a particularly vicious looking Midnight's Children ganger, whose bald scalp was entirely inscribed with miniscule scripts and vile-looking symbols. His black robes were decorated with what appeared to be bone fragments and—to Nicholas' horror—a genuine-looking skull. It was obvious that the ganger was in full charge of the new arrivals.

"That's Erasmus Fell, a lieutenant and one of Midnight's Children's raid leaders. I've had a misfortune of running into him in the past. Strong, for a gang of such poor caliber. His lot usually makes forays into the abandoned levels, preying on other gang members returning with their scavenged goods."

"Then if he is here…" Clara started nervously.

"That means the stronger members of Midnight's Children have begun to return from the field, as opposed to the wimps who are besieging the Gamma and the Eta squads. I'm guessing those gangers are on their way to join the assault on our friends. If Erasmus and his lot reach the barricades, the tide will likely turn in their favor, no matter what we do. Their numbers will become too great for us to handle."

"What do we do?" Milo asked.

For a moment, C.J. was silent, an intense look of concentration overtaking his face.

"We must go to our friends before they do. But still….we can't let those bastards go any further," the lieutenant finally spoke at length. "The only way to weather further assault on the barricade is to keep the Midnight's Children divided. Erasmus and his lot must be neutralized here and now."

"Finally, time to get down and personal," Barry snarled, unlimbering his baseball bat from his shoulder. C.J., however, firmly placed his hand on the eager ganger.

"Yes….and no. For all your enthusiasm, you are still no match for Erasmus. Nor any one of you. The only person who can make a difference here is me."

The Silver Wing gangers gaped at C.J. as the implications of his words dawned on them.

"You don't mean….?" Milo sputtered.

"A new plan," C.J. spoke calmly. "Whether you like it or not, I am going to engage those Midnight's Children. The five of you, meanwhile, will loop around this building and wait. When the fight breaks out and all of their eyes are on me, you all must run past the melee and make your way to the barricades. No matter what happens, you don't stop. These medicines must be delivered at all costs."

"We're not leaving you behind!" Clara protested.

"You are, and you will. Those are my orders, and I expect them to be followed to the letter. And let's not forget the stakes are greater than any one of us here. For the Silver Wings, we must do what must be done. Understood?"

Despite the grim look on their faces, the gangers reluctantly nodded. C.J. quickly detached the backpack and the fanny pack from around his body and handed them out to Liam and Milo respectively.

"Besides," the lieutenant smiled. "Do you seriously think I will lose to those savages? I've been through a lot worse before, and trust me, this is cakewalk in comparison." The comment managed to bring out a few strained smiles.

"Liam, I'm putting you in charge in my absence. Again, wait until the Midnight's Children are fully occupied before taking off. The fire escape would be only a block away from here. So make sure you all stick to the route across the rooftop as we planned. Arceus willing, I shall make my own way to the barricades after I'm done with these fools. Is that clear?"

"Yes," the teenagers solemnly replied.

"Then go. And good luck. May Arceus watch over your every step of the way."

Without further word, the five teenagers hurried back the way they came, looping around to the left corner until they had come to the opposite side to where they were earlier. Silent, the gangers hid themselves behind derelict remain of an automobile. The Midnight's Children still remained where they were, now seemingly caught up in some petty dispute. The screeching voice of Erasmus Fell echoed up to the sky as he gestured wildly into the air to make his point.

"This still feels wrong," Barry murmured. "We shouldn't leave C.J. to fight by himself."

"We do as we are told," Liam admonished. "Remember, we must reach the barricade as quickly as we can. We don't stop….no matter what happens."

"Any minute now…," Clara whispered. "Those poor wretches are in for a nasty surprise."

Nicholas looked up with bated breath. The Midnight's Children were still caught up in their disputes, with no immediate sign of moving on—

When the assault came, it was as if a hurricane had lashed out at the gathered gangers. Faster than Nicholas could have believed, the huge bulk of C.J. charged out of the hidden position straight into the Midnight's Children. Just before he tore into them, the Silver Wing lieutenant let out a mighty roar that set Nicholas' ears ringing. Before the Midnight's Children knew it, C.J. was in among them, wreaking havoc.

The sight of the enraged Silver Wing lieutenant beggared belief. Rather than to use a weapon, C.J. swung his meaty fists like a pair of wrecking balls. A couple of brutal hooks to the right and left saw two Midnight's Children grunts instantly mashed to the ground, their noses and teeth caved in by sheer force. Between his assaults, C.J. deftly released a pair of Pokeballs clipped at his side. A wry Hitmonchan burst into reality and immediately launched a Sky Uppercut at a nearby ganger. Another flash of light solidified into a ferocious-looking Granbull whose clamp-like jaws crushed an arm, eliciting an ear-splitting scream. All this took place in a span of five seconds. Taken by surprise, the Midnight's Children reeled from shock. A half a dozen of them had already been dispatched by the brutal attacks of C.J. and his Pokemon.

Erasmus screeched in anger, then, and pointed his wry fingers at the intruder among them. Midnight's Children had at last gathered enough wits to react to the danger. Howling with fury, the remaining gangers lunged at the giant lieutenant with their weapons raised high. Several flashes of light heralded the release of more Pokémon. Far from being dismayed, C.J.'s rampage only seemed to grow intense. Bellowing ferociously, he tore into the attacking gangers with impunity, his fists creating a whirlwind of destruction around him. More bodies fell to the ground, their bones crushed and limbs brushed. His Hitmonchan and Granbull also did their worst, their fluid movements indicating long years of training. The Midnight's Children were many, but the Silver Wing lieutenant seemed to hold on his own.

"That's it. Let's get moving while C.J. has their attention!" Liam whispered. "Remember what C.J. said. We keep moving, no matter what happens!"

Without further ado, the five teenagers broke from their cover and dashed across the open street as fast as their feet could carry. Not a single shout of alarm rose from the Midnight's Children, so focused they were on trying to bring down their giant foe. Nicholas, frantically chasing after the backs of the Silver Wings, managed to look back at the unfolding fracas as they rounded the corner. The last sight he saw was that of C.J.'s muscled bulk flailing through the crowd, Midnight's Children gangers clinging to his limbs like stubborn monkeys.

* * *

><p>Nicholas and the four gangers ran as fast as they could down the street without looking back. Though their legs were already beginning to tire, none of them dared to slow down. They had barely reached the end of the block, when they heard a screeching tire behind them. Nicholas took a quick glance behind and saw to his horror, a battered pickup truck rounding the corner. Despite the distance, it was bearing down on them with alarming speed. The flatbed of the truck was full of whooping Midnight's Children and their Pokémon. He could make out an Ariados and an Electrike clinging onto the roof of the cab, starting to spray bursts of poisonous barbs and electrical sparks in their direction.<p>

"Oh damn it all!" Liam cursed. "Run faster, lads! They're gaining on us!"

A long burst of Poison Sting stitched across the asphalt ahead of Nicholas and riddled Barry's left leg with razor-sharp needles. The teenager fell hard to the ground, screaming in agony and clutching his leg as the venom flowed into his bloodstream. Nicholas skidded to a halt to help the stricken ganger back up, only to be pushed back.

"Go! Leave me!" Barry half-cried, half screamed as he batted Nicholas away. "I'll hold those bastards off for as long as I can! Just go!"

Barry's eyes were already bloodshot and bulging, the poison's insidious effects already taking place. Thick veins had popped all over his face as his body strained to cope with the pain. A thin rivulet of bubbling saliva was foaming at the corner of his mouth. Despite all, the ganger was fighting against his condition with sheer rage and determination.

"But I can't just-"

"GO!" Barry screamed, even as his body was seized by an involuntary convulsion. "The mission! Get to the others!"

Nicholas shakily nodded, and forced his reluctant feet into a run. The truck was much closer now, slowing with the intention of disembarking its deadly cargo of rabid gangers. Still, Nicholas could not look away from the impending tragedy. He just couldn't.

Incredibly, Barry was slowly rising back to his feet, using his baseball bat to steady his shaky legs. As the first of the Midnight's Children eagerly climbed down the pickup, the Silver Wing ganger weakly tapped at the two Pokeballs by his side, releasing a Marowak and a Makuhita. Together, the three braced themselves like the heroes of old as the mob of Midnight's Children descended upon them.

Even as the first of the gangers collapsed onto the ground from the brutal swing of Barry's bat, Nicholas knew the fight was going to be short-lived. The poison had fatally crippled the teenager, robbing him of most of his strength and skill. Barry drunkenly lurched into the throng, roaring incoherently as he swung his weapon. For all his strength, there was very little coordination or focus in his movements. A few unlucky Midnight's Children fell back clutching their heads and bloody noses, though most leapt back in time to avoid the blow. Around the embattled gangers, Barry's Marowak and Makuhita fought a losing battle against their Pokémon opponents who surrounded the duo from all sides.

Barry swung once, recovered, and swung again….before losing his balance and falling forwards. Then it was suddenly all over, with a skinny ganger darting in to plunge a knife into the Silver Wing's side. In a flash, the mob of Midnight's Children were swarming all over Barry, cackling gleefully as they hacked and bludgeoned their quarry with pipes and knives. Similarly, Marowak and Makuhita finally vanished under the crushing weight of their foes. It was a terrible end, a fate that no one ought to have deserved—least of all someone as valiant as Barry. To their credit, neither the Silver Wing ganger nor his Pokémon cried or begged for mercy to the bitter end.

Nicholas's gaze was mercifully snatched away from the gruesome sight by three shapes darting out from behind the truck. Barry's death had not stalled all of their pursuers. Three outriders, two of them on motorcycles and one on the back of a squawking Dodrio, rapidly closed on the rest of the fleeing Silver Wings. Clad in leather jackets and dyed Mohawks, the riders wielded lengths of heavy chains and long batons with murderous intention. If anything, these gangers were much faster than the pickup truck, and there seemed no way of outrunning them at the pace Nicholas and the Silver Wings were going.

Nicholas's Pokeball suddenly burst open at his side, and the bristling form of Shade materialized behind him. Before Nicholas could slow down, the black weasel Pokémon puffed up his chest and exhaled a blast of Icy Wind that coated the road with glistening sheet of ice. His task completed, Shade nimbly ran up towards his trainer and smugly latched on his shoulder. Nicholas gaped as the pursuing outriders panicked and struggled to slow down. The one on the Dodrio managed to snatch his reins sideways, awkwardly tripping and toppling both himself and his mount onto the ground in time. His two companions weren't so lucky. Traveling at breakneck speed, both motorbikes swerved on the ice with catastrophic results. One flipped over and broke apart as it skidded across the road, pulping its rider into a meaty mulch. The other simply hurled headlong past Nicholas and exploded against the building ahead.

"Well done," Nicholas said breathlessly as he took off after the Silver Wings. Shade just chuckled nastily.

The three Silver Wings meanwhile had turned corner and disappeared into an alley ahead. Nicholas followed them in to find the teenagers scaling an old fire escape ladder set against the building wall. Momentarily forgetting any reservations about heights, Nicholas grabbed the lowest rung and began to climb after them. The gangers were climbing fast, their affinity with urban settings imbuing them with confident agility. Liam had almost reached the top already, with Clara and Milo closing in behind him. It took all of Nicholas's strength just to keep up.

A brilliant fork of lightning flashed right past Nicholas and exploded with a loud crackle that almost drowned out a howl of pain. Blinking off the afterimages that danced across his eyes, Nicholas was horrified to see Milo's body slowly toppling back from the ladder above him. A large charred crater was burned into back, small flame already licking at the ragged fabric of his jacket. There was no need for a second glimpse to tell that the attack had been fatal. Nicholas yelped and flattened himself against the ladder as Milo fell past him onto the pavement below like a discarded sack of flour.

Loud whooping shouts and laughter filled the alleyway, signaling the arrival of Midnight's Children pursuers. Pikachus, Ariadoses, and other assorted Pokémon were now directing all their firepower towards the Silver Wings. The bricks around Nicholas were quickly riddled with burn marks and gouges.

"The pack! The pack!" Liam frantically shouted from above. Nicholas stared in confusion until Liam's gestures prompted him to look down. Looped around the waist of still-lying form of Milo was the fanny pack that held half their medicine supply. With the demise of its carrier, the invaluable potions and salves lay abandoned on the ground….fully within the reach of the Midnight's Children streaming into the alleyway.

There was only one thing to do, whether he liked it or not.

Forcefully clamping down on panic surging through him, Nicholas quickly clambered down what few rungs he had managed to climb. He leapt the last few steps and landed awkwardly on all fours. Scrambling up, Nicholas quickly made his way towards Milo's body.

Up close, the sight was even more horrific. Wisps of smoke wafted from the body, giving up a stench of burnt meat. Milo's expression was forever locked into one of agony, his eyes wide and his mouth stretched open into a silent scream. Patched of his clothes were torn and burnt, revealing reddened and blistering flesh where the lightning had done its worst. Gagging, Nicholas frantically pawed at the clasp that secured the fanny pack around Milo's waist. It was a simple mechanism, and yet his hands were trembling so badly that he was having trouble undoing it. From the mouth of the alleyway, jubilant shouts rang as the Midnight's Children spotted Nicholas crouching by Milo's body. Four gangers stepped forward and sent forth their Pokémon, while the rest directed their attention to Liam and Clara on the edge of the roof above.

Snarling fiercely, Shade leapt off from his trainer's back and bounded swiftly to meet the attackers. The first Pokémon to face the dark weasel was a mangy-looking Poochyena that barked and lunged with its teeth bared. Shade coiled at the last minute, then leapt upwards to deliver a powerful Slash attack into the canine's jowls. Howling with pain, the Poochyena was sent hurling back towards its trainer, only to make room for a larger Ledian. The ladybug's six limbs blurred into a flurry of Comet Punches that sent the weasel staggering. Against the speedy attack of the insect, Shade was forced into a defense, weaving and backpedalling as the Ledian aggressively fluttered forward.

Despite Shade's efforts, not all of the attackers had been dissuaded from approaching Nicholas. While the Sneasel was being kept busy with the Ledian and the Poochyena, the remaining two Pokémon made a straight beeline for the vulnerable teenager. Nicholas gasped in fear as a hissing Venipede leapt towards him, a sharp stinger emerging from its fat tail. A sheen of venom coating the barb glistened ominously.

With a screeching cry, a red and cream blur tackled the Venipede midair, engulfing the bug Pokémon in fire as it did so. The insect squealed as it bounced hard against the alley wall, its body smoldering and covered in burns. The remaining Pokémon, a Croagunk, looked up bewildered only to see the flying form coming back for a second pass. With is crimson feathers and colorful plumage, Nicholas quickly identified the Pokémon as being a Fletchinder.

"Tinidh! Use Acrobatics!" Liam's strident voice rang out.

The crimson bird quickly began darting towards its foe, making zigzagging motions almost too fast for the eyes to follow. Dazed and captivated by the movement, the Croagunk reacted too late before the Fletchinder swooped on it with blinding speed. Laid low by a powerful flying attack, the fighting toad was violently punched from its position. Further back, Nicholas could see that despite the initial difficulties, Shade had managed to gain the upper ground. The dark weasel was clinging to the back of the Ledian, gleefully shredding its back with his wicked claws. Despite the ladybug's frantic efforts to shake him off, the Sneasel clung on fast.

Seeing their Pokémon taken out so quickly, the four Midnight's Children cried out in outrage and reached out for their second Pokeballs by their side. Before they could go any further, Liam's Fletchinder darted forward once more.

"Flame Charge, Tinidh! Burn those suckers to crisp!"

At Liam's single command, the red bird swooped amongst the four gangers, its nimble form bursting into brilliant flame. A curtain of fire trailed behind its body, setting hair and clothes alight. Howling with pain, the Midnight's Children dropped or writhed on the spot, desperately trying to put out the fires licking at their clothes and flesh. Chaos had not been confined to the four who had attempted to attack Nicholas, either. Screams and panicked cries now echoed from the rest of the Midnight's Children packing the alleyway behind them, as a stream of star-like energy projectiles tore through their ranks. From the top of ledge above, Clara was commanding an Espeon as it rained a Swift attack onto the crowd below.

In any other circumstances, the Midnight's Children would have quickly overwhelmed the Silver Wings with their superior numbers. An ordinary swift attack, of course, would not have posed much of a threat. Here in the alleyway, however, the terrain worked against them. The choked space of the alleyway meant that the gangers could not bring their numbers to bear at once, while the elevated position of their foe made it difficult for their Pokémon to target anything. Even worse, the enclosing sides had forced the Midnight's Children to cluster tightly, presenting themselves as vulnerable targets. Clara on the other hand suffered no such disadvantages, allowing her Pokémon to effectively suppress the gangers with impunity. At her clipped command, the Espeon psychically broke apart a sizable part of the ledge into concrete chunks size of fists. The deadly shards fell upon the Midnight's Children, adding even more to the panic.

Emboldened by the support, Nicholas attacked the clasp with added vigor. The plastic catch finally came apart with a click, and the teen gratefully yanked it out from around Milo's body. As he did so, a glint of three spherical objects on Milo's side caught his eyes.

_Milo's Pokeballs…._

Without thinking, Nicholas clicked open all of them in succession, releasing a Pidgeotto, a Machop, and a Kricketune. The critters cried out in surprise and anguish upon seeing the ravaged body of their beloved trainer.

"The Midnight's Children!" Nicholas gasped out. "They killed Barry! And now they've killed Milo!"

Shrieking with rage, Milo's bereaved Pokémon charged into their trainer's killers with a vengeful fury. Harried by Clara's Espeon above, the Midnight's Children had no time to brace before the three creatures plunged into their flank. A confused and brutal close-combat ensued, both gangers and Pokémon tangled in a confused scuffle. A few gangers even attacked their comrades, convinced that they had been betrayed for some reason.

"Anytime now, kid!" Liam called out from the rooftops. "We don't have all day, you know!"

With the fanny pack newly secured around him, Nicholas stepped onto the first rung of the ladder and called out to Shade. The weasel, having busied himself by thrashing the now-unconscious Ledian, reluctantly detached himself from the chaos and climbed up to his back. Aware that the Midnight's Children could recover from the confusion at any moment, Nicholas ascended the ladder as quickly as he could. As on cue, Liam recalled his Fletchinder and released an Arbok in its stead.

"Naer! Cover our escape with Haze! Let's make sure we have lost these idiots properly."

The serpent Pokémon nodded its sinuous neck, and opened its fanged maw to release a plume of purplish smoke into the alleyway. Even as Nicholas climbed higher, the scene below him slowly became obscured, the noise of battle the only indication of the damage still being wreaked. His calves were burning with exertion already, feeble muscles cramping from this sudden burst of activity. Nicholas dared not stop, though, instead focusing on stepping from one rung to the next.

Without warning, a jarring blow landed on the side of Nicholas' head, sending him reeling. Only a desperate reflex kept him hanging onto the ladder instead of plunging back into the alley. Shaking off the stars dancing in front of his eyes, Nicholas felt something sticky running down across his eye. He freed one hand to wipe his face, only to find it bloody.

"Watch out!" Clara yelled from above.

Nicholas turned his head and instantly ducked to avoid a gray bird Pokémon lunging towards him. Free from the fracas below, one of the Midnight's Children Pokémon had evidently decided to turn its ire on its true enemy. Letting out a piercing cry, the Tranquill banked around and dove once more with its talons gleaming.

"Shade! Help….!" Nicholas cried out.

He needed not have worried, for his weasel companion was ready this time around. Vaulting onto his trainer's shoulder, Shade puffed out a jet of Icy Wind straight into the Tranquill as it closed in. The bird Pokémon hooted in protest, which quickly turned into one of panic as it found its wings frozen solid. Shrieking, it dropped helplessly from sight into the smoke-choked alleyway below.

"I like the way how you handled yourself down there," Liam chuckled as he and Clara roughly hoisted Nicholas up the last few steps. "Especially where you released Milo's Pokémon. Arceus bless his soul, Milo would've been so proud to know how much they loved him."

"Shouldn't we get them out of there?" Nicholas said, cautiously looking over the ledge. "You know they'll be overwhelmed at some point."

"No," the red-haired ganger shook his head. "You've given them what they wanted after all, to go down avenging the death of their trainer. A grieving Pokémon in Undercity could not ask for any less. Besides, they'll buy us enough time to make a clean getaway."

"And Barry…?" Clara ventured. A single look at Nicholas' face told the gangers all they needed to know.

"Damn," Liam cursed quietly. "Now those bastards will really pay for what they did to us. But that will come later. For now, we must hurry to the barricade before anything else happens. By the way, are you alright? It's a nasty blow you took from that Tranquill."

"I'm fine," Nicholas lied, wincing as he wiped away more of the blood from his forehead. "Just a flesh wound."

"Good. Let's move out. We don't have too long to go now."

After recalling their Pokémon into their respective Pokeballs, the three surviving teenagers began to jog across the roof heading due northeast. The gaps between the building roofs in the area were narrow enough for them to leap across, though Nicholas was quickly reaching the end of his adrenaline-fueled stamina. If the Silver Wings were suffering likewise, they certainly showed no sign of it. To Nicholas' relief, the Midnight's Children showed no inclination of following, and none of their crazed members showed up behind them during their passage. It was only after traversing across the roofs further into their territory for about twenty minutes when the teenagers hear a fresh racket ahead of them.

"Hold here," Liam muttered as he picked his way towards the edge of the warehouse they were standing. After scanning the perimeter with a battered binocular, he nodded with satisfaction.

"We found them alright. 2'o clock, about twenty meters ahead of us. It looks like they're still holed up in that barricade. There are constant barrages coming in from north and northeast corners. The whole situation looks dangerous, so we'd better move in quickly."

"Aw crap! At this rate, those bastards will burn down all of our food!" Clara exclaimed.

Nicholas crept forward to take a look himself. Stretching in front of him was a large open square ringed by several old dilapidated cafes. Dominating the center of the area was a haphazard barricade of wood and cardboard boxes stacked against a half-destroyed pickup truck that lay on its side. Signs of struggle were startlingly fresh, evidenced by limp bodies scattered around the barricade and scorch marks that riddled the crates. Even now, regular stream of lightning bolts and fireballs were pouring into the redoubt from the opposing windows. Response from within the barricade was sparse and irregular. Even from the distance, Nicholas could make out panicked shouts and darting figures that manned the crude barbican. At the very edge of the square, shadowy forms of the Midnight's Children lurked, biding their time.

Liam took out a thin coil of rope from inside his jacket that he used to create a makeshift ladder to climb down onto the roof of a nearby shed. Few more minutes of shimmying saw the teens safely make their way down onto the ground. Having recovered, Liam, Clara, and Nicholas pushed themselves flat against the warehouse wall. The refuge of the besieged Gamma and Eta squads lay straight ahead.

"We must move quickly onto the redoubt now," Liam hissed. "Those nut-bag Midnight's Children will start firing down on us as soon as they figure out we aren't with them. We make this passage in one go, got it?" Clara and Nicholas nodded grimly in return.

"Three…two…one…now!"

The three teens darted out from the warehouse and began dashing across the square towards the barricades. The first burst of attacks that greeted them however, came not from the besiegers.

"Hold your fire, you morons!" Clara yelled on top of her voice as a burst of fire sailed past her shoulder. "We're on your side! Silver Wings! Silver Wings!" Running beside her, Liam tore off his gang armband and began to wave it frantically. Such necessary but open display of allegiance however had an adverse effect of redirecting the attention of the Midnight's Children to the trio. Withering fire from across the square now splashed all around them, forcing Nicholas, Clara, and Liam into a weaving run. On the bright side, the attacks from behind the barricade gradually diminished until it completely stopped. Panting furiously, the Silver Wings almost slammed against the side of the barricades out of the killing zone. One of the crates in the bottom was pulled back, and the teenagers gratefully crawled into the hole into safety.

No sooner had they straightened up did the trio come face to face with a gaggle of gangers staring with undisguised surprise and suspicion. Despite the same Silver Wing armband around their arms, the rabble looked ready to tear the newcomers apart.

"What the hell is going on here?!" A surly looking teenager with a sleek brown hair and a cowlick pushed himself past others to the front. "Who are you?"

"Relax, Roger," Liam growled "It's us, Liam and Clara from the Theta squad, plus the janitor kid. We've come bearing medical supplies and to provide further support here."

The mood of the surrounding teens brightened noticeably and brought many smiles and laughter of relief. Lingering suspicions melted away into a gathering jubilation.

"A rescue! By Arceus, that's the best news I've heard in hours!" Roger exclaimed in relief, almost appearing on the verge of tears. "We're finally getting out of here! So, where are the rest of you?"

"Sorry, Roger," Clara said apologetically. "But we're it, and there's not going to be any rescue for now. We've merely come here to brace up your defense until the main relief force shows up."

Smiles disappeared as fast as they came. The gangers fell silent and stood thunderstruck, their wide eyes filled with disbelief.

"No rescue?" Roger stammered. "But…but why? We can't hold our position any longer by ourselves! We're not going to last another hour!"

"CJ's on his way, too. He's just being delayed a little," Nicholas ventured, but Roger no longer seemed to pay any attention. The teenager began pacing back and forth restlessly, tearing at his hair in distress as he began to hyperventilate.

"We're all going to die!" Roger cried out. "Don't you get it?! We've all been abandoned! There's no hope for us now! Those monsters out there are going to eat us alive!" Roger's voice now bordered on frantic mania. His fear began spreading around him, agitating the gangers around him into fits of nervousness.

With one swift, fluid motion, Liam stepped forward and caught Roger's face with a brutal right hook. The ganger collapsed with a shrill cry, clutching at his bloody nose.

"Oh, shut yer bloody mouth, you miserable piece of shit!" Liam roared. "It's your fault we're stuck here in this hellhole in the first place! You think any of us is any less afraid?! But unlike you, we're all going keep our asses out in one piece or die trying! And if you keep prattling on with your whiny bitchin', I'm going to haul your sorry bottom out into the open, got that?"

Roger looked up with fear-filled eyes, forced back a whimper and nodded meekly.

"Right then," Liam straightened up and took a deep breath. "Everyone listen up! We will need to defend ourselves for an hour or so before the main rescue party can get us out. I know you all are exhausted and spent, but just remember that this all will be over soon! We've brought potions for the Pokémon, so if anyone needs them just form a line in front of me!"

The besieged remnants of Gamma and Eta squads, though still forlorn, were galvanized enough to reassert some measure of control amongst themselves. Many formed a queue to receive much needed supplies from Liam, while those remaining tended to their positions on the barricade with renewed vigor. The teenagers were all sodden with sweat, grime, and blood, their hard eyes staring out defiantly from their exhausted faces. Many of them sported fresh wounds that had been hastily patched up by pieces of rags, some injuries serious enough to warrant a limp or a makeshift sling. Various weapons of different qualities hung limply from their hands—baseball bats, pipes, long poles, and knives. The Pokémon that defended the barricade along with their trainers weren't faring better, similarly bruised and wounded in the battles in the past hours. From time to time, the crate barricade trembled and rocked as steady stream of fire rained down on the defenders. The Silver Wings returned the favor whenever they could back towards the invisible enemy.

"In the meantime," Clara turned to Nicholas and pointed at the fanny pack around his waist. "Take those supplies to our medic by the corner. We need to patch up our injured as best as we can."

Nicholas nodded and carefully wound his way through the teenagers towards the more secluded corner of the redoubt. There, he found a familiar figure tending to several gravely wounded teenagers lying on the ground.

"Amber?"

The red-headed girl wearily raised her head, and Nicholas was taken aback to see the hollow look in her eyes. Amber's usually pleasant face was a mess. Her lips were cracked and taut with tension, and splashes of motor oil streaked parts of her hair into a glossy black sheen. Her Pikachu sat perched on her shoulder, while her three other Pokémon—a Flareon, a Buneary, and a Poochyena—prowled around the perimeter, alert for any intruders. It took Amber a few seconds before a look of recognition entered her face.

"Nick? What on earth are you doing here?" The girl muttered blankly.

"Thought I could help. The relief force was a little shorthanded," Nicholas replied. He quickly remembered that as a member of the Gamma squad, Amber had been a part of the convoy. "Here, we brought some medical supplies for the wounded."

Amber took the medicine as if in a trance. Her fingers slowly rummaged through the contents of the fanny pack. She merely stared at the vials and bottles without acknowledgment, her lips moving silently as to sound out some words she didn't know.

"Um….Were they not the ones you needed?" Nicholas ventured.

"Somno-morphine," Amber rasped. "Burn creams and bandages…. If only I had them at hand in the first place…they could've lived. I might have even saved them all."

"I-I'm….sorry," Nicholas said hurriedly. "We tried to get here as quickly as we could. If we had known how urgent this was-"

"It's not your fault," Amber shook her head. "It wouldn't have made any difference even if you got here earlier. I knew it was too late the moment we were hit. If I can't administer the medicine right away, then nothing else would've done them any good. I should have—I should have brought my emergency kit with me. I'm a medic, for Arceus' sake!" She cursed bitterly, her voice cracking with anger and grief.

"It wasn't your fault, either, Amber," Nicholas replied. "There was no way you could've known this was coming." Amber did not seem to have heard the comment, perhaps too caught up in her personal regrets.

"But still….I guess I have do what I can. At least, it's not too late for some of us," the girl muttered. Screwing open a tin lid of a burn cream, Amber proceeded to apply a generous scoop onto one of her patients, a semi-conscious young girl with a severe burn on her left arm and shoulder. The patient groaned and jerked in pain as the cool ointment touched her skin.

"Look…you've got to rest easy, Amber. You're not obviously well right now."

Amber let out a bitter laugh, topped by a sharp hiccup. "You think?! Look at me, Nick. Here I am, unable to do shit while my teammates lie suffering. In what universe would I be okay?!" Taking a deep breath, she remained still for a brief moment. A light shudder went through her body.

"But there's no need to coddle me. I will be alright," Amber continued after a while, now sounding a little more settled. "The question is…are YOU going to be alright? We're in a middle of a gang war, for heaven's sake, and you only have your Sneasel to protect you!"

"I had my reasons to be here," Nicholas smiled faintly. "I'll try to take care of myself as best I can. Besides, there's nothing I can do about it now, is there?" Amber nodded slowly before taking out a roll of bandages from the fanny pack.

"I can't say I fully approve of you being here," she sighed as she carefully wrapped the bandage around the patient's burned arm. "This is ugly business, Nick. Just look at them! It took all my mediocre skills just to keep them going. Even now, I can't say for sure whether they'll make it. And of course, I couldn't do anything for some." She sadly pointed out two bodies lying apart from the rest, their faces mercifully covered with their own jackets.

"They were my friends, Nick. Just this morning, we were laughing and chatting about things we were going to do with our earnings after we finished up. And now, they are just….bags of meat, dead and still like bricks or this truck."

"I'm so sorry about your loss," Nicholas said quickly. "I understand what it is like to lose someone. It's….never easy."

"That's not the worst of it," Amber said. "This isn't the first time I've lost a friend, you know? The very first time was the hardest. I remember crying my eyes out back then. After a while, as more and more of us were taken from us, I've learned to stay cheerful, keep the smile on if only for the show. It actually makes it much easier to bear the pain."

"But then after a while, I began to realize all these deaths….weren't making me feel as sad or hurt anymore. It's as if my heart is hardening as more and more memories of my friends fade away. So now….I sometimes have to force myself to feel sad, to make sure I don't die inside. And that, Nick, is the worst thing about losing someone….to not feel anything when tragedy strikes, to lose the ability to mourn."

A depressing shadow stretched over the girl's face, leaving Nicholas uncomfortable. Despite her words, Amber did not stop even once in her ministrations, continuously bandaging the girl with practiced ease.

"What happened here anyway?" Nicholas quickly changed the subject, hoping to lighten the mood. "It would've taken a lot to total the truck this big." Indeed, the large truck was not in a good shape. The vehicle was flipped onto one side, its tattered tires dangling uselessly in the air. Several parts had come loose, creating jagged seams through which gasoline slowly dripped out. The left side of the front cab had been crushed, littering the ground with shattered windshield fragments.

"What happened? Roger Billings and his friends happened, that's what!" Amber spat venomously before glaring towards Roger's direction. "Those idiots wanted to impress one another in some stupid bet. Thought they were ballsy enough to cut through the Midnight's Children territory. The rest of us said no, but would they listen? A bunch of immature morons…. Thanks to them, my friends are dead! You hear me, you jackass?!" The girl whipped her head around, her voice abruptly ring to a high pitch. "YOU. KILLED. MY. FRIENDS!" In the distance, Roger's shoulders stiffened, then sagged.

"Anyway, the Midnight's Children saw us coming from miles away. So they rigged the road with a bunch of Voltorbs and made them Self-Destruct as we passed by. I should know, this is not the first time that tactic has been used in the Undercity. I recognized their distinct sound of explosion as soon as they went off. Mickey over there was killed right away, thrown off the truck as it flipped." Amber nudged her chin at one of the covered bodies.

"Then those freaks tried to rush us as soon as our truck broke down. But we managed to rally fast enough to see off the first wave, before building this…sad shelter," Amber paused. "What the hell happened to your forehead?"

"Oh, this?" Nicholas gingerly fingered the wound, flinching as a sharp pain erupted at the touch. "Got into a bit of a scuffle on the way…. I made it out alive, two us didn't."

"Here, let me look," Having finished bandaging, Amber took out an antiseptic spray from the pack and rose up to Nicholas. "Nasty….but lucky for you, shallow. This will do the trick." Without warning, she brought up the bottle and sprayed once onto the wound. Nicholas yelped involuntarily as the sting brought tears to his eyes.

"A little warning next time?" He grumbled as he blinked the tears away.

"Don't be such a drama queen, Nick," Amber deadpanned as she carefully stuck a large patch of Band-Aid over his wound. "We'll all need to be on our best if we are to survive the next hour."

"Ibrahim's coming. He'll be here in no time with reinforcements. Hopefully, he'll come up with a way to get all of us out of here."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I know Ibrahim. He'll never leave one of us out here to die. The real problem is….do we have hours to spare? A lot can happen it that time, Nick, and I'm not naïve to believe we all get to have a happy ending."

* * *

><p>"Ware, ware!" One of the gangers manning the barricade suddenly cried out. "Movement to the north between the buildings! The enemy is gathering for another assault!"<p>

"How many?" Roger asked, his eyes wide.

"At least two dozen gangers, and half again that number in Pokémon!" A fearful mutter swept through the defending Silver Wings. The Midnight's Children outnumbered them by two to one, promising a daunting fight ahead of them. A flurry of activity overtook them as the gangers finished tending to their wounds and their Pokémon.

"Everyone to their positions! Man the barricades!" Liam roared confidently as he strode forth to the walls. "Bring out every Pokémon that can thin their numbers from the distance! We can finish them off before even one of those sons of bitches gets to us! To arms!"

"Yes, well…whatever he said!" Roger exclaimed as he anxiously followed the teenager up the walls. With practiced ease, the Silver Wing gangers began stepping up to the battlements to face their enemies. Gripped tightly in their hands were long poles, baseball bats, cudgels, and other various fighting implements that promised cruel punishments to whoever got close. One or two Pokémon stood in front of each ganger, their eyes grim and alert just like their trainers. Sparks and flickering fire flashed through the gloom amongst them in anticipation.

"I should be up there," Nicholas muttered, half to himself. "We're going to need all the hands we can get on this one. Besides, it would be better for me to see what's coming for myself." With a tap, Shade materialized from his Pokeball onto his shoulder once more, growling in eager anticipation.

Amber opened her mouth as if to protest, but instead sighed in resignation. "Well, I know I can't stop you, so I won't. But here, I'll have my Flareon accompany you to the battlements." At the mention of its name, the fiery canine Pokémon eagerly stepped forward.

"Are you sure? I don't want to leave here undefended," Nicholas said.

"I'll be fine. I have my other friends to help me out," Amber smiled faintly. "Besides, I know your Sneasel prefers getting close and personal with his opponent. I'm sure my Flareon's talent for ranged combat can complement him nicely. You won't even need to command him or nothing. He knows what he's doing, don't you Flareon?" The fire Pokémon happily cried out in response and coughed up a wisp of flame from its mouth, prompting Shade to cringe uneasily.

"Thank you."

"Just take care of yourself, okay? Oh, and don't forget to pick out a weapon for yourself from that pile over there. You don't want to leave yourself exposed, do you?"

Nicholas turned to see a small haphazard assortment of weapons heaped against the far wall. For a brief moment, the alien idea of actually wielding a weapon befuddled him.

"How on earth am I supposed to use that?" Nicholas said dumbly.

"Just grab one on one end and hit the enemy with the other. Pretty simple really. You'll get a hang of it once you get started."

Nicholas gingerly stepped up to the crude tools as if he were approaching a nest of vipers. Never in his life had he ever picked up a weapon, much less use it on someone else. To him, violence was solely in the realm of the adventure novels he read. He took a glance at the rest of the gangers and noted how those same weapons rested so easily in their hands. _But then again, if it came down to choosing between fighting and being killed… _After some thought, Nicholas finally picked up a long wooden pole that was not unlike the mop handles he had gotten used to. Though not the most lethal weapon in the lot, familiarity with such an object would give him a better chance of survival. Or so he hoped.

Freshly equipped, Nicholas fell into place along the barricade, into to a thin line of gangers guarding their respective positions. Though he was standing behind a two sturdy crates stacked up on top of one another, Nicholas didn't feel any safer than he was before. Shade didn't seem to share his sentiments, however, and quickly climbed down his shoulders and on top of the crate. He was quickly joined by Amber's Flareon, who playfully slapped a paw across the weasel Pokémon's head—to Shade's immense displeasure—before taking up a guarded stance next to him.

All along the line, the gangers were muttering uneasily even as their keen eyes pierced into the gloom. On the far side the square, silhouettes of the Midnight's Children were emerging slowly from the distant shadows like fearsome beasts from the deep. Under the dim streetlights, their tattoos and piercings gleamed with unhealthy glow, making them look fiercer than ever. Silver Wing gangers around Nicholas began to mutter self-affirmations or prayers to ward off the creeping terror. Nicholas noticed to his relief, however, that Erasmus Fell or any of the gangers he was with were not among them. Perhaps C.J. had managed to best them…..?

"Hold the line! Do not fear them!" Liam's steady voice rang across the battlements. The ganger had unsheathed his machete, which he brandished before him threateningly. "Beneath their disguises, those wretches still bleed and scream like anyone else. We've kicked their arses before and we can do so again! So pick your targets carefully! Remember what the Lieutenants have taught us...bring down whoever or whatever comes closest, but be mindful of the type advantages and disadvantages. Make sure your Pokémon makes each attack count."

"And when those bastards get within your reach…" Liam's voice suddenly took on a savage tone. "Give them hell, and let them know what it means to mess with the Silver Wings!"

A ragged cheer rang up from the defenders, heartened by the encouragement. Nicholas smiled despite himself. The gangers seemed to know what they were doing. Perhaps this whole mess will be done with without him having to lift his pole?

Even as the Silver Wings readied themselves, the mob of Midnight's Children began marching into the square. Only a few steps were taken however, when the painted gangers suddenly stopped in their tracks and slowly parted to either side to reveal a large gap. A slow, dreadful chant began to echo from their ranks, gangers' feet stamping and hands clapping with the beat. Several Silver Wings looked to each other in alarm and fear at this strange development.

"What fresh hell is this?!" Clara hissed loudly.

"Oh, Arceus! Look at that!" Roger suddenly shrieked beside him and pointed ahead.

A humongous form was lumbering forward through the path that the Midnight's Children had cleared. Though squat in a conventional sense, its vast, armored body was bulging with horrific strength and anger that was barely restrained by its masters. Lamps shone upon a mass of thick stony plates and thorny ridges, surrounding a pair of baleful eyes and snarling maw.

"No…" Nicholas breathed, feeling his knees grow weak as he did so.

It was a Rhyhorn, and an enormous example of its kind at that. Gleefully goaded by its handlers, the stone rhino Pokémon lumbered forward to the head of the mob. Its cruel eyes flickered towards the wooden barricade erected far ahead of him, triggering an inevitable, primitive instinct in its small brain. The Rhyhorn snorted, pawed at the ground, then threw back its head and bellowed. Its trumpeting roar was deafening, and more than one ganger reared back with his hands clamped to his ears. Before the Silver Wings could recover from their surprise, the Rhyhorn lowered its head and surged forward. As on cue, the gathered Midnight's Children shouted a mighty cheer and began pouring out towards the redoubt.

The Rhyhorn came charging across the square like a runaway train, the ground shaking with each thundering step it took. The horde of various Pokémon belonging to the Midnight's Children followed in its wake. Some stopped every now and then to send projectiles, bolts of lightning or streams of fire towards the defenders, but the great majority closed the distance with impunity, their combat expertise lying in close quarters fighting. Coming right behind them was the ululating mob of Midnight's Children gangers, wasted and feral urchins daubed in terrifying war paints. Crude cudgels, knives, and makeshift spears were clutched in their hands, one ganger carrying a tattered gray banner emblazoned with the gang sigil: a baleful crimson eye staring out from an indigo hand.

"Oh shit! Bring them down! Bring them down!" Roger screamed frantically. The Pokémon defending the barricade opened up without further encouragement, their trainers hollering out targets. Although the distance was still too great for Shade's Icy Wind, Amber's Flareon belched out a stream of Flamethrower that caught a Sandslash fully on its side. A spatter of fire directed from the defenders rippled through the mob and fell several Pokémon. Still, even Nicholas saw that the defense had gotten off on the wrong foot. Many of the Silver Wings had been caught off guard at the sight of the Rhyhorn, and in their panic had forgotten to pick their targets carefully. Too many sprays of fire, acid, and lightning bounced harmlessly off the stone Pokémon's sturdy armor, inadvertently freeing other more vulnerable foes from defensive fire. Type weaknesses and strengths were quickly forgotten as many teenagers resorted to mindlessly lashing out at the first enemy they laid eyes on. Nicholas saw one ganger who, oblivious in his panic, was commanding his Drowzee to use Confusion on a Mightyena over and over despite the obvious ineffectiveness of the attack. Nearby, a Pachirisu had accidently stumbled into a Gothita belonging to another ganger, resulting in a heated exchange that ended in a furious brawl as their respective owners egged them on despite the ongoing battle. In the face of terrifying adversity, what little discipline the Silver Wing gangers had was quickly breaking down.

The Midnight's Children came charging in with frenzy, their whooping war cry and shouts growing louder by the second. The Rhyhorn had come so close by now and nothing had been done to dissuade it from its unstoppable momentum. The stone rhino snorted and lowered its fortified head in a bracing position. In that brief second, every single Silver Wing ganger knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Oh shit! Everybody get off the barricades, now!" Liam screamed. Without hesitation, the gangers and Pokémon threw themselves from their positions barely before the Rhyhorn reached the redoubt. Against a Pokémon known to send trailers flying, the stack of crates was like paper to it.

The Rhyhorn rammed through the crates with a titanic force, creating large breach in the barricade in a blinding storm of debris, cans and protein bars. A couple of unlucky Pokémon were brutally thrown into their air like rag dolls. In its fury, the Rhyhorn continued straight on its path of rampage and sent more Pokémon hurtling off to the side.

A terrified shriek pierced the air. Through the rolling cloud of dust, Nicholas saw Roger, having been knocked off his feet, frantically trying to scrabble away from the Rhyhorn bearing down on him. His valiant Vigoroth leapt in to protect his trainer, only to have his stomach caved in and hurled into the crates by the charge.

"No! No! Stay away! Stay away!" Roger wailed helplessly as he met his doom. A dark wet spot was quickly growing in his crotch when the super-heavy Pokémon trampled him underneath its feet and utterly broke the teenager's body. Without as much as backward glance, the stone rhino stubbornly plowed past until it broke past the back wall and disappeared from sight altogether.

Dazed by the catastrophic assault, the uninjured gangers and their Pokémon barely had enough time to recover. Screaming like banshees from hell, the Midnight's Children and their Pokémon poured in through the breach and savagely descended upon the stricken Silver Wings.

* * *

><p><strong>R&amp;R!<strong>


End file.
